Collide
by Helene Fyne
Summary: When Sylar goes to Claire for answers, the pair find themselves colliding in ways they'd never imagined. Post 'Let It Bleed' .
1. Of Moths and Flames

**Chapter One: Of Moths and Flames**

I had been many things: a watchmaker, a serial killer, even a company man. But one thing I had never been, was a voyeur. Do not mistake me, I had stalked, and watched… but I had never taken the sort of sick pleasure in it that was welling up in me at that moment. When I watched her though, and the face through the window matched the face etched in ink beneath my skin—I couldn't help it.

It had been that way for a week. I hadn't been able to drag myself from her window during the night and was a little more than surprised that no one had noticed and reported me to campus security. I was grateful for it though, when I confronted the cheerleader, I wanted it to be on my own terms. Besides. I was having too much fun just watching her. I could hardly believe how much she'd grown from the headstrong—and I do mean that literally; her skull was hell to drill through—teenager I met before.

She must have been eighteen or nineteen by then, and her body showed it. When she striped down at night before the insufferable roommate of hers returned, I found my breath catching. She was small and thin, and the swell of her breasts and hips was in perfect proportion to her petite waist. And her skin, it was smooth and aching to be touched.

But it wasn't just her body that had developed nicely. I watched her struggling through homework, forcing herself to work things out and do that same calculus problem over again until she had it right, and that wasn't even where her passion lay. When she read silly books like Jane Eyre and Wuthering Heights, I could see how much she loved them, how devoted she was to soaking up every word. And it was arousing, the obvious delight in learning, her need to know and commitment to education.

And her ardor wasn't confined solely to school work, no. The way she cried in the dead of night when the brunette was asleep, her whole body shaking and tears streaming down her face; that too was beautiful. The cheerleader's passion permeated every area of her life.

Despite it all, I still wondered what had taken me there. The tattoo, of course, but what could it possibly mean? Why was I here, watching this appealing young woman through a darkened window and feeling myself grow closer to her night by night? I didn't try to fool myself into believing anything so trite as we were 'meant to be' with one another, but something Lydia had said to me had rung true. I was lonely, and I certainly wasn't daft enough to try to lie to myself about it. But was being there, a voyeur just outside of the girl's life, making me any less lonely?

I pushed those existentialist thoughts away as she moved, turning beneath her blanket so that she was facing the ceiling. Her eyes were open and staring.

I tilted my own head to the side. She didn't usually wake up during the night.

I could hear her sighing from where I hung in the air, not with the use of any power, though it would have been useful if the virus hadn't stolen it from me, but because she had left her window open for air that night.

"What is it, Claire?" I whispered, making sure to keep my voice barely audible. Of course, I had extraordinary hearing even without the use of abilities, so I didn't much worry about her hearing me. She was decidedly oblivious for someone who had gone through so much, and I didn't delude myself into thinking she hadn't. After all, I had been the one to attack and cut open her head.

"Gretch," her voice was high and clear in the little dormitory. Across the room from her, the other girl shifted, turning in the bed to face her.

"Is everything okay?" she asked, sleepily.

"Yeah," Claire turned on to her side and faced the other girl now, hands pressed together beneath her cheek. "Just a bad dream."

Gretchen snuggled into her pillow. Letting her eyes drift closed. "Wanna tell me about it?"

Claire smiled, a sad smile. "No, it's cool. Sorry for waking you up."

"Mhm," Gretchen nodded, her breathing steadying quickly once more as she fell back to sleep. I doubted she would remember the conversation in the morning.

Claire continued to lay there, breathing slowly until it didn't seem she could take it anymore. She sat up swiftly, swinging her legs onto the floor. They were long and bare. She slept in men's boxer shorts and a ratty old t-shirt. It was fascinating how at home she looked in them. I wondered who she had gotten them from.

She crossed the room quickly to sit by the desk and I moved to linger closer to the wall. I could see her out of the corner of my eye, turning the small light above her desk on and pulling out a battered old leather book from one of the drawers.

A journal? I arched a brow and couldn't keep myself from smiling. What a perfect opportunity. After all, understanding things was my specialty.

When she was done writing, she looked tired, worn. I watched her open the drawer and set the journal carefully inside.

She got up after that, crossed to the little sink in their room and ran the tap for a few seconds, filling a cup with water and dumping it onto the plant above her bed before climbing back between the sheets and letting herself fall asleep once more.

I watched it all, moving back so that I had a good angle. And then I waited. I waited until her breathing became even and then I came in through the window, feet settling soundlessly on the floor as I bent over her desk and let my fingers trail down the wooden face of it.

Her desk was neat, but not obsessively so. A planner lay open on one corner, her schedule written neatly out for each day. I studied it for a while until I was positive I could recite it from memory.

Beside the planner various books and highlighters spilled across the surface, and on the edge her binders and notebooks lay stacked neatly.

I retrieved the leather-bound book from the drawer quickly and turned my back to the desk, staring at the sleeping girl in her bed. The covers were drawn up to her chin and her blonde hair stuck to her cheeks. She looked vulnerable like that.

Lydia's words from a week ago rang in my ears. Impotent my ass.

I turned uncomfortably, forcing myself to look away from the prone figure and make my way out of the room.

And I flew, rocketing so high into the air that I could feel ice forming around me. I raised one arm, fist clenched to face the stars. I felt like superman.

And then I let myself plummet back towards earth, plummeting down. The wind rushed by my ears in a deafening roar, and I didn't stop myself until I'd fallen past the first skyscraper. I settled on a park bench beneath a streetlight, invigorated, and let Claire's little book fall open in my lap, cracking the ice on its spine.

The first page was faded and smeared, written in a childish scrawl using a number two pencil.

I read:

_August 21, 2001_

_Daddy got me a jurnal for my b-day. Im so exsited! He said it is so that when hes not hear I can still have someone to talk to. He has to go away tomorow for a confrinse. I don't want him to go, but mom says its real important. I gues it is. Anyway. I want to tell you all my stuff that goes on, so I can always remember and tell daddy when he coms home. Today was a good day. I turned 12 and got some dolls and a teddy-bear from daddy, and mom got me a neklase and lyle didn't get me anything but mom put his name of the neklase. I got some books to, I really liked them. Got to go!_

_Love, _

_Claire-bear Bennet _

I smiled, letting the journal close on my lap and looking up at the street lamp. Countless bugs swirled around it and zapped themselves on the bulb.

Claire Bennet. Twelve years old and writing inexpertly in a sturdy leather journal her Daddy had brought home to her. I could see her in my minds eyes, small and blonde, sparkling green eyes taking in every untidy word and stopping finally, satisfied with her work.

I remembered my first journal, a notebook really. It hadn't been filled with pretty things at all. I'd written awful things. "I hate Jacob Wright," "Dad's drunk again," "I want to run for student body president," "Mom's crying," "I wonder what other people's blood feels like." No wonder I'd turned into such a head case.

I pushed those sordid thoughts from my mind and watched the moths flying frantically in the circle of light.

English 222 on Tuesday's and Thursday's, 10:00-10:15. Math 142 Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, 11:50-12:40.

I'd never been to a four year college, and I figured it was as good a time to go as ever.

I looked down again at the ink on my skin. She looked back up at me. I remembered how I'd felt about her before. Desire—clearly not sexual, I am not a child molester—hatred, envy, curiosity. I remember realizing just how special she really was when I looked into her head and saw what she had hidden there. And my path had taken me back to her. God only knew why. If she saw me she'd try to kill me, and I couldn't say I regretted what I'd done to make her feel that way.

But like I had said before, we could always build bridges, and it appeared we were meant to. Now if only I could convince her… and maybe do so without getting a pole shoved through my head or a god-damned Petrelli riding my ass… everything would start to make sense.

I fell asleep on the park bench, planning the next step.


	2. Of Authors and Angels

**Chapter Two: Of Authors and Angels**

Now that I was back at school, it was surprisingly easy to pretend that things were normal again. I did my best to forget Samuel's offer and Nathan's funeral, throwing myself into the rhythm of class and the college scene.

Lit class was one of my favorites. I got to sit in a lecture about books that I already knew and liked, and the only homework was the occasional essay. There were only about a hundred students—a relatively small class. Still, there were enough that I didn't know everyone's faces. That's why I assumed that the boy staring at me was a regular student.

After I was sure he'd been gawking for at least five minutes, I turned and looked back at him long enough for him to realize that he'd been caught. Far from being embarrassed, he grinned before turning his attention back to the professor. Now it was my turn to watch him. He was handsome, with longish, dark brown hair that reminded me of Peter's. Slender and tall, I could see the way his knees bent uncomfortably under his desk. Just looking at them made my own legs ache in sympathy.

I faced forward, trying to concentrate on the themes of _Jane Eyre_, but my eyes kept sliding over to look at that guy. He stretched his legs out in front of him and I let out a tiny sigh of relief. He looked over and winked at me, and I snapped my head back to the front, blushing. It was the first time I'd counted the minutes until class was over.

"I want an analysis of the first six chapters of the book by next week," Dr. Nahum announced as he let us go. I stood up and prepared to catch up with the boy, but he was already standing in front of me.

"Can I have a word with you outside?" he asked politely. I nodded and he gestured for me to go ahead of him. When I turned back, he chose to speak first.

"Do you mind telling me why you couldn't keep your eyes off me?" he asked cheerfully. "It's flattering, but staring _is_ kind of rude."

I was taken aback. "Are you kidding? You were staring at me."

Another warm smile, and I was suddenly feeling a lot less upset about his creepy behavior in class. "How else was I going to get you to notice me?"

I was confused as hell, listening to this. "I'm sorry… I don't know who you are."

"I'm Michael." He stuck out his hand, and I shook it. His hand was large and warm, and my own felt lost inside it.

"Mike?" I asked, tilting my head to look up at him. I was right. He positively towered over me.

He made a face, shaking his head. "No. Just Michael."

"I'm Claire."

"It's very nice to meet you, Claire," he said formally. It was a few moments before I remembered why we were talking.

"You were staring at me like a total creeper."

"Sorry." But his eyes sparkled and his tone told me that he thought it was funny. "I really did want to talk to you, though."

"Why me?" I looked at him, already planning on what to do if he turned out to be someone I didn't want to talk to.

"Because out of all those kids, you come to class every day and you're riveted on what Nahum has to say. You _like_ this stuff."

Of course I did. What's to dislike? "Are you saying you're failing? You're looking for a tutor?"

His expression became almost pained then. "No. I understand the material. I was just hoping to find someone to explain why people actually care about it."

"If you don't like it, then why are you in the class?" I was just slightly irritated with this whole line of conversation. And I was going to be late for my next class.

"To learn," he said simply. "I like to learn." I frown uncertainly and he presses his advantage. "Please, Claire. If you ever needed help in any of your other classes, I would be completely willing to lend my aid."

I considered his offer for a moment. Math was never really my strong point… "Any of my classes? How do I know you're any good?"

Michael smirked, self-confidence practically rolling off of him. "I provide only the highest-quality assistance." He saw my unconvinced look and went on, "I did a lot of self-study in high school. I spent all my free time in the library. I promise I'll be of use to you."

He sounded a hundred percent sincere, and I nodded. "Okay. And you just want me to…teach you how to like _Jane Eyre_?"

He laughed then, showing off even white teeth. "If you want to put it that way, sure." I noticed absently that his eyes were a dark green, closer to hazel than my own eye color, and only remembered to look away when he waved.

"I'll see you in class, then."

"Yeah. Bye, Michael."

He stayed in my mind as I hurried to my next class, sliding into my seat just as the lecture started. Unlike English, this biology class had well over three hundred people in it, and I was lucky I'd found an empty place.

I started zoning out in the dark as the professor outlined yet again what was required of us and what the class would cover. This was at least the third time she'd given us the information; you'd think that at this point she could have just expected us to know it.

My phone vibrated and I moved quickly to silence it. I opened it to see that I had a text.

_Hey Claire. Thought of you today and had a weird feeling. Stupid, I know. Call if you ever need anything, though. –Peter._

I wondered briefly what Peter would make of Michael's unusual request. Not that I was really worried about it; I just had a tendency to wonder what Peter would do in any given situation. I guess that's what happens when someone saves your life and then turns out to be a close relation—Peter would always be someone I'd look up to and care about.

Suddenly my professor's voice jarred my consciousness. "Let me repeat: we will be spending several weeks looking at genetics."

At least I knew I'd have an A in that portion of the class.

* * *

**A/N: Thanks for the warm reception everyone! We'd love to hear more from you, because this is a story we aren't done with yet, and there is definitley room for feedback. Also, your reviews are the only way we get paid. :) **

**--Mel and Chuck**


	3. Of Boys and Girls

**Chapter Three: Of Boys and Girls**

Even though my earliest class of the day on Wednesdays was around noon, I couldn't manage to stay awake for it. Math never was my subject, especially the boring math for non-math majors I found myself ignoring three days a week in a class of 200. So when the crumpled paper hit my desk I found myself being startled out of my usual stupor.

I looked up and around me, trying to find the person audacious enough to toss trash at me.

And there was Michael, folded into his little desk with a notebook in front of him and a pen in his left hand. He looked awkward and uncomfortable in the right handed desk.

I arched a brow in his direction, looking pointedly down at the paper and then questioningly up at him. What was he doing here?

He nodded, smirking before looking back at the professor and beginning to take notes.

I rolled my eyes, grabbing the paper and trying to unfurl it with as little noise as possible. The girl to my right shushed me as I finished.

_You forgot to ask me for my number yesterday. I knew you'd be fretting about it, so here you are. _

_897-555-3857_

_MG_

I rolled my eyes again. This guy had nerve. Never the less, I pulled my phone from my pocket and set it on my desk, glancing furtively at him from the corner of my eye. He was smiling and had set his own phone on the corner of his desk. He was waiting for me to text him.

I decided to ignore him for the time being. He was way too cocky.

But it looked like he had the patience of a saint and the confidence of a movie star, because he just kept smiling every time I looked at him and taking notes while the professor spoke.

Finally, I couldn't take the look on his face any more, and honestly, I wasn't paying any attention to the lecture.

_Are you stalking me? _I asked, sending the text massage and setting the phone in my lap.

The slim phone on his desk lit up and he picked it up, glancing at me with raised brows before responding.

_You're the one who texted me, Claire. _

_What are you doing in this class? I haven't seen you before._

_You saw me yesterday._

_I meant in this class. _

It took him a few minutes to respond. He had gone back to taking notes. _Well, is it my fault you're painfully oblivious? _He responded finally.

I made a sound of disgust and tossed my cell into my bag, forcing myself to focus on the lecture.

It vibrated once before it went quiet for the rest of the class. When lecture ended I took my time organizing things before exiting. By the time I had finished Michael had already left. I couldn't tell whether I was glad or disappointed. I had expected him to linger. Or maybe I'd been reading the signals wrong. Maybe he really was a cocky douche.

I pulled my cell out of the bag as I walked out of the hall, reading the last text.

_Sorry if I offended you. I just thought you should have my number. So we can study later?_ He said.

I felt instantly bad. This was what my life had conditioned me to act like. Suspicious of everyone and unable to act like a normal college student. He'd been… what? Flirting? Yes. At least I thought that was what flirting was like. I hadn't done it in such a long time. But West had been equally as antagonistic and alluring.

I kicked myself mentally. I didn't need this crap right now. I didn't need the drama that came with getting close to someone.

But I damn well deserved to have some fun. The issue was balancing the fun—which I still wasn't completely convinced I could handle after last week—and being cautious. Telling people about my ability hadn't exactly gone well any other time I'd tried it, what with the Rene Haitianing people any time my dad got antsy and murderers trying to kill my best friend. And I just wasn't up to keeping secrets from people anymore, not after what my dad had done.

My hand went to the necklace above my blouse and I sighed.

Of course, the whole cellular regeneration thing was a bridge I could cross once I came to it. What was keeping me from just getting to know Michael outside of that a bit and studying together? That was what I wanted, wasn't it? Normal college students had study partners and friends. Maybe even boyfriends? I pushed that thought away quickly. With Gretchen around, a boyfriend wasn't exactly something I should be looking for. That last thing I wanted to do at the moment was put strain on our friendship, and I was pretty sure making out with men would do exactly that. The best course of action was just to stay platonic and not step on any toes. I may not have been interested in kissing Gretchen, but I was definitely interested in being her friend.

I sighed, stopping by a bench and taking a seat. Why did life have to be so confusing?

"Claire!" I jumped, startled by Gretchen's sudden appearance as she sank down to sit beside me. "You will never guess what happened to me this morning," I smiled at her, waiting expectantly for her story.

"You ran into a Martian in Psych?"

Gretchen laughed, punching my arm lightly.

"No, silly," she sang, shaking her head. "But close. I was in Psych, coincidentally, and this guy, cute if you're into penises and all that jazz, starts hitting on me. I was like, 'thanks buddy, but I'm so not interested,' and he just kept going. So finally, I had to straight up tell him, 'I like chicks, not dicks,' and God, he was mortified,"

"I can imagine," I said, eyes widening just slightly. I'd never heard her talk quite so blatantly about her sexual preferences. Maybe the fact that she had a crush on me might have had something to do with that.

"Anyway, Claire! The point is, this is the first time I've ever actually told someone straight up without being super close to them before! It's a break through! I mean, I've always been comfortable with who I am… but not that comfortable."

I stared down at my own hands for a few seconds. If only I could be as comfortable in my own skin as Gretch was getting. She liked girls, and she was totally at ease with that. I grew back limbs in seconds. Was that something I'd ever grow completely accustomed to? I found myself growing just a tad jealous of her breakthrough.

"Earth to Claire," Gretchen called from beside me. I jumped, eyes widening as I looked back at her. I smiled.

"I'm glad for you," I assured her.

And she smiled radiantly, wrapping her arms around me in a warm hug and pulling me close. And even though I knew how she felt I wasn't at all uncomfortable, because she accepted me for exactly who I was. Just like she accepted herself.

Maybe I let her hold her arms around me for just a little too long, but I felt better when we pulled apart, even if she had that look in her eye again as she watched me, the look she'd gotten right before she kissed me.

I averted my gaze and focused on the cell phone which was still in my hand. I began texting to keep things from getting awkward.

_It's cool. How's tomorrow around 4 for studying? Meet me in the library. _

And just to be contrary I saved his number under 'Mike' and slipped the phone into my back pocket.

* * *

**A/N: Thanks for the warm reception everyone! We'd love to hear more from you, because this is a story we aren't done with yet, and there is definitley room for feedback. Also, your reviews are the only way we get paid. :) **

**--Mel and Chuck**


	4. Of Books and Shapes

**Chapter Four: Of Books and Shapes**

It was really almost too easy to arrange all this. Claire, of course, was a little wary, but that made sense. Even normal girls with normal lives could get into trouble with strange boys at college—and someone in Claire's position would be twice as cautious. Even so, she was meeting me today in just a little while to study. I checked my watch and found that I had a little while before four, so I pulled out Claire's journal for a bit of light reading and flipped to a random page.

_October 2, 2006_

_Today the police came to school and started asking about the cheerleader who pulled the man out of the train wreck. Jackie took the credit for it and I let her. I can't let anyone find out about the stuff that's happening to me. They'd think I was a freak, and I am. But Zach told me today that he lost the tape that we recorded everything on. Oh my God, if anyone finds it, they'll freak out. I'm freaking out._

_I asked Dad today about my birth parents. I'm hoping maybe they can tell me something about what's wrong with me, not that I told him that. He said that it was a grown-up decision though and that I shouldn't try to grow up too fast. I think he's just worried, but he's the best dad in the world. It's not like meeting my biological parents would ever change that._

_Love,_

_Claire_

I smirked. Wouldn't you know it; the girl still had an unusual obsession with being 'normal' and trying to stifle who she really was. I tucked the book safely into my backpack as Claire walked up to my table. I had chosen it for its position in the center of the large area, making sure that she would feel unthreatened and safe.

"Hey Michael," she greeted me with a smile, and I couldn't help but smile back. She was actually quite sociable, assuming one hadn't attacked her and opened her head up. Yes, this had been an altogether brilliant plan, although I still wasn't entirely sure what I was trying to get out of it.

She started talking about literature and _Jane Eyre_, and I completely missed every word of it. It was the conviction, the passion in her voice that caught my interest. It made me wonder if she devoted the same kind of zeal to her relationships with the people around her. It was enough to make me want to be the subject of the same kind of fervor. I found myself gazing at her face as she grew more and more animated. Her eyes lit up when she got excited, and I wished I cared about her favorite stories enough to be able to have a real conversation.

"But do you see what I mean, Michael?" she finished. "It's the universality of the themes that make it so popular."

"Absolutely, I do," I assured her.

She laughed, raising her eyebrows in an expression of unbelief. "No you don't. You've been staring at me, and you haven't heard anything I'm saying."

"I most certainly have," I protested. "You're talking about your favorite books."

"Okay, well you obviously haven't been listening to me, because I never said they were my favorites." She folded her arms across her chest and sat back in her chair.

"Not in so many words, no. But just because I didn't catch every word doesn't mean I can't listen to you and interpolate the subconscious affect you take on when you talk about this stuff."

Her face was blank for a second before she laughed.

"You must be smart, because I have no idea what half of that meant."

"Told you," I reminded her, grinning. "You'll never need another tutor as long as you're here."

Claire stuck her tongue out at me. "Let's take a little break before I ask you about my math homework, then. If you're so brilliant you should be able to teach me in a pretty short time, right?"

"Sure. What did you have in mind?" I asked, stretching back.

"Tell me about yourself." When I stared blankly at her, she encouraged me, "You know, just a few things about you."

"Um, hi?" It felt very awkward. _Hello, my name is Sylar. I stole the DNA of a young man who visited a traveling carnival of people with powers, and now I'm using it to masquerade as a college student so that I can interact with this girl who, coincidentally, has appeared on my arm as a magical tattoo._ I suppressed a chuckle before opening my mouth again.

"My name is Michael Garrison. I'm a freshman at Arlington who hasn't decided on a major yet. I'm left-handed, I love pie, and I'm from Queens."

She beamed at me, and I felt like the sun was shining on my face. "Good. I'm Claire Bennet and I'm originally from Texas. I love chocolate milk. I have a little brother named Lyle and family that lives in New York, and I'm adopted."

"Nice." I looked at my watch again and saw that we'd already been there for well over an hour. "Ready to work on your math?" She nodded reluctantly, pulling her textbook out with a sigh. We spent the next hour and a half going through her homework until we were both satisfied that she understood the material.

"That was incredible," Claire gushed as we left the library together. "You really are a good tutor." I smiled and thanked her as she pulled out her cell phone.

"Do you maybe want to join my roommate and me for dinner?" she asked.

"I can't; I need to go work on my own homework," I lied, noting the way her face fell at my refusal.

"I'm sorry I took up most of our study time. Thanks again!"

I watched the petite blonde's hips sway as she walked away. It was time for me to return to my real shape for a while. I was already thinking of Claire in her pajamas, the way she would be that night as I watched from her window.

* * *

**A/N: Hello! Here's chapter four, after a long weekend. I hope you all had pleasant Valentine's days and were able to spend time with the people you love. Please remember to leave comments, as those are the only way we know you like/dislike what we are writing. We'd like to have at least five comments for each chapter, but we're not going to punish you all if we don't get to that number. We'll just feel very dejected. **

**--Mel and Chuck**


	5. Of Dreams and Dreamers

**Chapter Five: Of Dreams and Dreamers**

_The classroom was well-lit but empty. I stood at the front of the lecture hall, staring out at the 200 plus vacant seats in frustration. This wasn't going as I'd planned. Frustration welled up in me and I began to pace, glancing anxiously behind me every few seconds at the lecturers podium. _

_And then, he was just there, sitting in the back row and tapping his fingers in time to my footsteps. _

_"Hello, Claire." His voice was soft, but I could hear it clear as day from across the room. _

_"Hi," I responded, "I'm glad to see you actually made it." _

_He rose from the seat, adjusted his jacket and ran his long fingers haphazardly through messy locks of silken brown hair. He looked like some sort of band boy in straight legged jeans and an AC/DC t-shirt. _

_"What are you talking about? I've been here the entire time," he said. And he was right. I remembered then, the way he had just been sitting there, watching me as I paced. He had looked almost hungry. _

_And suddenly, I was hot all over and my skin was tight and itching. I wanted him right there next to me with his hands in my shirt and his mouth against mine. _

_Because I wanted it, it happened. I was leaning against the podium and his fingers traced my bare arms and the inside of my thighs, and for some reason I was wearing my old cheerleading uniform. He rucked up the skirt carelessly, nails scratching along the tender flesh he found there and teeth grazing the shell of my ear. _

_"Claire," he murmured in my ear. I could feel something hard pressing between us, right against my stomach. It seemed to pulse. I remembered suddenly kissing West in my bedroom, the way he'd felt against me when he'd been aroused. But this time I didn't pull away, this time the feeling was welcome. _

_"Michael," I whispered. My fingers were tangled in his hair and I could taste his sweat on my tongue. _

_And then our clothes were gone and he was inside of me and I was fuller than I'd ever been, fuller than my fingers had ever made me feel. _

_"So hot," his voice was strained and his eyes shut tight. _

_I let my head fall back and my curls fell across the podium. The ceiling seemed to ebb and flow above me as we moved, or maybe that was just the constant jolting of my body back and forth. _

_And then I was coming and my whole body was pulsing as I let out one long, keening wail. Above me, he was groaning as his eyes fluttered closed and his bottom lip disappeared between straight white teeth. _

_We rocked together for a few moments more. I watched the expression on his lovely face change from tense to incredibly relaxed and immensely satisfied. _

_Finally, his eyes fluttered open, staring back at me dark and brown and fascinated._

_I screamed, and I screamed, and _I screamed.

"Claire!"

I shook and shivered on my back, my throat raw and my insides clenched tight around something that was no longer there.

I whimpered.

"Claire," small hands one my sweat dampened shoulders made me shake, sharp fingers digging into bare skin.

My eyes opened wide and I sprang up into a sitting position. A sickening crack and a blinding pain rewarded me for my efforts.

"Shit," Gretchen's voice was low and painful as I groaned. I realized suddenly that I'd slammed my forehead against hers in my haste to sit.

"Jesus, Gretch, I'm sorry. Fuck that hurts."

"Tell me about it," she groaned, falling unceremoniously to the ground and cradling her head in her hands. "What the hell were you screaming for anyway?"

I tried to clear my mind, tried to remember what had made me scream so loudly I could still feel it lingering in the back of my throat. But the only thing I could remember was the feel of Michael inside of me and the way he'd looked standing between my thighs.

The thought made me flush hotly from my face down my neck and to my breasts. The stickiness between my thighs pooled in my panties and I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep the ripples in my body from tracing down my spine and becoming visible.

I think Gretchen got the gist of it anyway though, because her eyes widened slightly and her lips parted as her own breathing grew shallower.

"Oh," she said softly, trying to stifle a smile and failing miserably. "Sorry to bother you then."

My cheeks burned hot and I blinked miserably. "No, Gretchen it's not like--"

"You don't have to explain, really," she assured me, getting to her feet and rubbing the sore spot on her head, "I know all about that type of dream," and the look in her eye told me I probably played a staring roll in 'those types of dreams' where Gretchen was concerned. I decided not to think about it.

Instead, I watched as Gretchen left my bed-side, crossing to her own mattress and settling down between the sheets once again. She fell asleep within minutes and I was left to listen to the steady sound of her breathing. But I couldn't sleep, not with the pulsing, aching mess between my thighs and damp sheets clinging to my skin.

I got out of bed quickly, swung my feet to the cold floor and made my way quickly to my desk. I didn't need a light, the moon was bright outside and filtered through the window like some sort of poetic imitation. I decided I could do without it. My hands moved quickly, opening the desk drawer and sifting through for the old leather spine of my journal. It took me almost a minute to realize it just wasn't there, and when I did I got a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.

I must have spent half an hour in the darkness, emptying drawers and bags and going through my closet, I even went through Gretchen's desk at one point, and by the end of it I had been forced to conclude that it just wasn't there. That's when panic set in. It was gone. My journal. Jesus. I had written everything there, from my childish hopes and daily happenings to the first time I'd thrown myself off of a building and to Nathans funeral. What would someone do with that information?

I glanced over at Gretchen, wondering for a moment if it had been her. She was the only one with access to my things… but I trusted her. I really did. I tried to push that option out of my head. What else could have happened to it? I never took it out except to write in it, and I can't think of I time I'd ever taken it out of this room. Had it slipped into my back on accident? Had I lost it on campus somewhere? 

I felt nauseas, my earlier arousal forgotten completely and only a cold dread left in its wake. My journal was missing, all of my secrets. Admittedly, I had only written in it sporadically, but that was only because I had written on important occasions or when I was feeling particularly conflicted. That journal would be a fucking landmine for anyone looking to hurt or expose me.

My mind jumped instantly to Sylar. He was still out there, the man who had worn Nathan's face and been almost a father to me. The one who had cut open my head and called me special when no one else had wanted to acknowledge it. The man who had smelled my hair and stroked my face as I shivered beside him, drinking pinot and wanting nothing more than to kill him. Had he found me again? He was free, that much I knew. He was out there. And the way he'd touched me in the hotel room had convinced me he'd be coming back.

I shivered at the thought. Why couldn't he leave me alone? This monster who had killed my biological parents, the one who had terrorized me and been fascinated by me.

Fascinated. Fascination.

The eyes in the dream.

I fell back on my bed and a cold shiver ran up my spine.

I wanted to cry. Wanted to run. Wanted to be anywhere but in this room where my secrets weren't and I was surrounded by fear.

* * *

**A/N: Sorry for the delay between chapters. We're trying to post steadily, but we don't want to get too far behind on chapters, and both of us are busy college students. :) Please remember to leave comments, as those are the only way we know you like/dislike what we are writing. We'd like to have at least five comments for each chapter, but we're not going to punish you all if we don't get to that number. We'll just feel very dejected. **

**--Mel and Chuck**


	6. Of Knowing and Chatting

**Chapter Six: Of Knowing and Chatting**

I saw Claire with her roommate in front of the student union and waved casually. She gave me a half-wave and turned away quickly. I could see her blush from where I stood and wondered what was wrong. It would be easy enough to figure it out, though.

I walked quickly to her building, floating up and unlocking the window easily. Claire's desk looked as though she had torn everything apart; she must have realized that her journal was missing. I chuckled to think what she would do if she knew I had it. Now that I was there, though, and I knew I had a few minutes…

I walked around the room, looking and touching the little things lying around and thinking to myself. There was a reason this young woman was inked into my skin, if I could just figure it out. Perhaps she was the key to my 'impotence', as Lydia had so rudely put it. Maybe with Claire I could learn what was wrong with me, why I couldn't kill Samuel.

I sat on the bed as I looked into Claire's night table, placing my hand on the duvet beside me. A memory flooded through my fingers from the blanket, shocking me. _Claire sitting up out of her sleep, breathing raggedly, with a wet heat between her legs that soaks into the sheets._

I raised an eyebrow at the vivid history of the bed. It was recent, too—from last night, it appeared. I wondered if maybe her dream was part of why Claire was on edge today. From that thought, it was a quick jump to wondering exactly what she'd been dreaming about.

The cell phone in my pocket buzzed and I started, jumping off of the bed and making sure that the room was exactly as messy as I had found it. I didn't open the text message until after the window was shut and I was back on the ground.

_Sorry if that seemed weird just now. I'm just in a weird mood today I guess. But it's nothing personal._

I smirked, remembering the train wreck in her bedroom as I replied. _It's cool. Everything okay?_

_…not really. Kind of an unusual day._

_Want to talk about it?_

I waited for a full five minutes before getting an answer. _Sure. I'm sitting in front of the union._

She sat at a table with her dark-haired friend, and I vaguely wondered how much talking we could actually do with a third person present. I needn't have worried, though.

"Michael, this is Gretchen," Claire introduced us. The brunette shook my hand before excusing herself, and I sat next to Claire as Gretchen walked back to their dorm room. I took a minute then to look, really look at Claire. She looked tired and worried. And when she noticed my scrutiny, she blushed again.

"You're staring," she quietly informed me.

"No I'm not," I protested, "Just looking. What's wrong?"

She sighed heavily, looking away before she spoke. "You'll think it's stupid. But I woke up from this really disturbing dream last night, and it freaked me out. So I went to write in my journal so I could calm down and go back to sleep, and I couldn't find it anywhere. I tore my entire room apart, but it's gone." She looked at me, eyes threatening tears. "If anyone ever found it, and read it…I would just die."

"Oh come on," I chided her gently. "It's not the end of the world. How bad could it be?" Her face told me that she was taking the matter quite seriously, and I decided it might be wise to change the subject.

"What was your dream?" I asked. She hesitated, biting her lip.

"You were there. And we were in one of our classes, but no one else was there." She stopped and I had to encourage her to continue.

"We were just talking," she said. My skin tingled at her words. Liar. "We were talking, but then you changed into someone else, someone evil, and then I woke up screaming." She shuddered in remembrance, and I touched her arm reassuringly. My newly-acquired empathic ability kicked in, and I found myself in touch with Claire's desires and feelings. Her mind was a roiling mass of fear and more surprisingly, lust. I could feel the way she responded to my hand on her skin, and it pleased me that she felt so strongly. I didn't really need to guess what she had dreamed of after all.

"I'm sorry you had a bad day," I murmured as she hugged me, looking for comfort. As enjoyable as the feeling was, though, it surely couldn't have been the reason she had appeared on my body. There had to be something more. She leaned against me for another moment before her phone rang. As she pulled away, the scent of her hair lingered in my nose.

"Sorry," she murmured as she picked it up. I listened to her side of the conversation as she looked away to focus on the phone.

"Hi, Mom." Her voice took on a cheery canned quality, as though it was important that her mother not know how she was really doing. It made me smile to watch her keep things from her parents. "No, I'm with a friend…his name is Michael. No Mom. I'm actually busy tonight, but maybe we could get together sometime next week? Awesome. I'll see you then. Tell Doug hi for me. Yeah, I will." Once the conversation was terminated, she dropped the tone and rolled her eyes.

"My mother is so nosy. She says you're welcome to join us for dinner sometime, but you really don't have to. She'll only ask you every single detail of your personal life and make you listen to dog stories the whole night; besides, I think she's just interested in showing off her new apartment. It's supposed to be prime DC realty, or something like that."

"I thought it was the dad I was supposed to worry about," I joked, waiting for her response. What would she have to say about Noah?

"You won't have to worry about him at all. My parents are divorced now." Her face implied that she didn't want to talk about it, and I was willing to oblige her for the time being. Her family wasn't what mattered to me—after all, I didn't have Mr. Muggles tattooed on my arm.

"You've been really great," she told me, standing up. "But I should go. I'll call you later." She hugged me again before walking back to her dorm. I sat alone at the table, wondering what on earth I was actually supposed to do with her.

* * *

**A/N: Sorry for the delay between chapters. We're trying to post steadily, but we don't want to get too far behind on chapters, and both of us are busy college students. :) Please remember to leave comments, as those are the only way we know you like/dislike what we are writing. We're starting to make some new decisions for the tale, so if you have any suggestions, don't be afraid to voice them. :)**

**--Mel and Chuck**


	7. Of Late Nights and Moonlight

**Chapter Seven: Of Late Nights and Moonlight**

A week passed. I saw Michael in class every day and we texted back and forth about silly things: the weather, The Office, our professor's weird selection of clothing and even religion. Michael was a catholic, named for one of the archangels, and had even been an alter-boy at one point (a position he assured me had been shrouded with a lot less concern when he was a child). He'd sounded a little shocked when I'd told him I wasn't at all religious and that the last time I'd been to any sort of church I'd been 12 and my mom had been talked into taking Lyle and I to a Mormon church by a couple of young guys in white shirts and ties who had rescued Mr. Muggles from the street. The people had been overly nice and my mom had been so weirded out that she'd refused all offers of further help from the young men.

That wasn't to say I was completely lacking in faith. I believed in God as a creator, but organized religion wasn't really my style, and it sure hadn't been my dad's.

But there was something about the way Michael spoke when he talked about religion, a sort of intensity I respected deeply.

By the time we actually got to spend time together again I was so comfortable talking to him—or texting—that there was little to no awkwardness when we sat down to work on a literature essay together in the library. We wrote for a while on our respective computers before he finally closed his in disgust, slamming the three heavy textbooks beside him shut and making some of the other students studying glare our way.

I arched a brow at him.

"Done?" I teased. He only rolled his eyes and crossed his arms, leaning back in his seat and stretching until his back popped. I cringed at the sound.

"Hardly, but I think I've had quite enough bull-shit for one night," he said.

Someone on the other side of the room shushed us.

"Don't give up," I urged, "It's due in two days and you're barely a page in."

"I'm sure I can manage to cobble something together last minute," he said with another contemptuous glare in his laptop's direction, "besides, you're nearly half way through. Let's be done for the night."

I couldn't deny that the idea of quitting for the evening was attractive. It was a six page essay and I was already three pages in. I could definitely afford to stop… and what the hell, I was a freshman in college. I deserved to take a break once in a while.

"Okay," I nodded, closing my things and dumping them into my bag haphazardly. Michael rapped his hands across the desk triumphantly before rising and swinging his own back-pack over his shoulders. His chair scraped and people started glaring again. He only smirked back.

We made our way out of the library and into the cool evening air. It was at times like these, when the chill air nipped at my fingers and face, that I was reminded of exactly how close Christmas was. The semester was nearly over, something that that had been nagging at the back of my mind since Thanksgiving. Another week and it'd be time for finals, a week after that and it would be Christmas. I was not looking forward to that particular holiday dinner. Lyle had managed to weasel his way out last time by getting an invite to his girlfriend's for the evening, but I, in my state of perpetual datelessness, had had to endure every agonizing second. That had not turned out well.

"What's on your mind?" His voice was soft beside me. I looked up to meet his gaze; almost hazel eyes stared back at me, genuinely interested. My heart fluttered in my chest. He really was a handsome guy. Long, straight nose and long lashes over clear skin. Dark windswept hair tickled the back of his neck, ears, and forehead.

"Mmm—family," I said.

"Doesn't sound like you're enthused," he teased.

His hand brushed lightly against mine as we walked and my stomach did a flip-flop. I wasn't even sure he had noticed.

"Well, more specifically, the holidays. I told you my parents are recently divorced?"

"Yes, you did," he nodded.

"Well, my parents have this absurd idea that holidays should still be done as a family, except they're both bringing their new—" I stopped abruptly. What _were_ Doug and Lauren? Boy-friend and girl-friend? Significant others?

"Lovers?" Michael supplied.

"Gross! No," I protested, "The people they're seeing," I finally settled for, "and it's ridiculously awkward."

"I'm guessing you're not a huge fan of your parent's divorce," he said.

I shook my head. "No, I mean, well who wants their parents to be unhappy? My dad had a problem… telling the truth. My mom was sick of dealing with it. It's better for both of them this way. I just…" my voice trailed off.

"Just don't like pretending everything is okay when it's not?"

Our pace had slowed to glacial, and at his words I had to stop completely. He was staring ahead, this look that was half distress half concern etched across his face. And I thought in that moment, 'he gets it.'

"Something like that," I confessed.

We kept walking, he looked pensive, hands at his side and shoulders slouched forward slightly as he walked. I wasn't even sure where we were going, but just being with him was so nice.

"I get that," he said finally, stopping in his tracks to face me. Those eyes met mine and I felt ensnared. "How awful it is to have to pretend when the only thing you want is the truth. I know what it's like when your parents fail you and the only person you have to pick you back up is yourself." And he spoke with such intensity, such fervor. "I know how... how lonely it can be." His voice dropped to a whisper. "How impotent you can feel when you're helpless to fix what's wrong in your life." He sounded tortured and in that moment I wondered if maybe I wasn't the only one in the conversation who knew what it was to be drastically different, to have to hide and make excuses all the time.

"Sorry," he said suddenly, breaking eye contact and clearing his throat. He looked embarrassed, exposed. I couldn't have stopped myself if I'd wanted to. I reached out with one hand and twined my fingers around his.

He jumped a little when my skin made contact, the line of his body tensed, but as my hand clung to his, he began to relax. His own fingers relaxed, wrapping around mine as he squeezed lightly.

"You know, Michael," I said, voice soft, "You're not what I thought you'd be."

He smiled, eyes troubled.

"No," he said, "You either."

We walked that way, hands entwined until we reached my dorm. We stopped just outside of the building, staring up at the lights and the moon above it all.

"I'm sorry if I got too deep on you tonight," Michael said finally, glancing nervously down at me. I only smiled.

"Deep is good," I answered, "Deep is real." And I didn't get real too often.

"Maybe I should—"

"What are you doing for—"

We spoke simultaneously and each insisted the other go first. He won.

"What are you doing for Christmas?" I asked.

He didn't say anything for a few moments.

"Nothing that I'm aware of."

I bit my lip.

His hand shifted against mine, warm and strong.

"I was just thinking, if my parents get to bring dates, and you're not going home for the holidays, maybe…" my voice trailed off. I was so nervous. "But if you're going to go back home and spend the holidays with your family, there is zero pressure, I mean, I totally understand if—"

"I don't have much family," he said, interrupting me. "My mother has passed, and I don't really know where my father is," I understood suddenly what he had meant about parents failing their children, "So if you're asking me over for Christmas, Claire… the answer is I'd love to."

I smiled up at him then and nodded.

"Cool. I'll let you know what they're planning closer to the day of."

He nodded and smiled. He had a wonderful smile.

We stood there for a while longer, neither willing to let go of the others hand. Finally, he spoke.

"I should probably get going," He murmured.

"Right," I replied.

"Just text me if you have any questions about math or —"

But I cut him off, pushing myself up on tip-toes and pressing my lips to his. He was surprised, his eyes widened for a moment before fluttering shut as my mouth moved against his. He had soft, wide lips. I couldn't have helped myself if I'd wanted to.

"Goodnight," he said, his voice hoarse. I pulled away and blinked up at him. He looked surprised, happy… dazed.

"Night, Michael."

I turned forcibly away then, making myself go in through the double doors of the building and walk towards my room.

I'd kissed him.

He had kissed back.

It had felt good.

I thought guiltily of Gretchen. How would I be able to tell her this? That I'd invited a guy I'd know for only a couple of weeks to spend Christmas with my family instead of inviting my best friend? Well, what she didn't know couldn't hurt her.

But what the hell was I doing anyway? I'd kissed him. I really liked him… this was normal. This was good.

I reached the door of our room and slipped my key in the lock, trying to wipe the silly grin off of my face and failing miserably. Thankfully, Gretch was already asleep.

He kissed me back.

* * *

**A/N: Here's chapter seven for you! Please remember to leave comments, as those are the only way we know you like/dislike what we are writing. We're starting to make some new decisions for the tale, so if you have any suggestions, don't be afraid to voice them. We do listen, in fact, something one of you said recently influnced chapter 11 as we wrote it. Cheers! **

**--Mel and Chuck**


	8. Of Watches and Chapels

**Chapter 8: Of Watches and Chapels**

I had never really had a girlfriend before. From a young age I was privilege to the many taunts and teases that came with having glasses and an over-bearing mother, none of which had made me a social butterfly. My first time had been when I was 23 and attending classes at Queensborough Community. Her name was Carla, but she pronounced it almost like "Koala" and she was one of the stupidest girls I'd ever met. She had large breasts though, and had been willing to sleep with anything erect. I think I was lucky guy number 17. But I came out of it with my genitals intact and, thankfully, no STD's.

My second time I was 25. I really didn't know her name, or anything about her. But we were both so drunk that unprotected sex had sounded like a great idea. The next morning, not so much. I'd heard from her once after that. The test was negative.

My third time was slightly better, probably because I'd paid good money for it.

And after that, it had been one long, dry stretch until Maya (who was so flexible my eyes had nearly popped out) and Elle. Things with Elle had ended lamentably, but the sex… Jesus. It was at her knee that I had learned about pain and pleasure on a completely different scale.

But despite my (admittedly limited) forays into sexual experience, I'd never really had what could honestly be called a girlfriend.

Until Claire.

Claire was everything I'd never had growing up. Lithe and blonde and as bright as the sun at high noon. She smiled easily, laughed often, and seemed genuinely interested in what I had to say. What _Michael_ had to say.

I smiled bitterly, staring down at the mashed potatoes on my plate as I pushed them back and forth across Sandra Bennet's fine china. No one noticed; they were all far too busy making things awkward for their children. I was just upholstery, even if I was dating their daughter.

Dating. It was such a strange way to put it. I was watching, talking to, maybe stalking Claire, but could what we did together be called dating? We studied and chatted. We held hands and kissed. She kissed like a virgin. She probably was. And still, I was no closer to figuring out my purpose with her than I had been three weeks ago. All I'd managed to accomplish in that time was to get myself invited to Christmas dinner with the same family I'd spent so much time terrorizing in the past.

But I was… happy? Was that the word? I liked what I had going with Claire, even if it was twisted. Even if I wasn't 20, but 30, and even if I wore a strangers face when her lips touched mine and she told me how happy she was to have me holding her hand.

Still, I wasn't the only one keeping secrets between the two of us. While mine were, admittedly, more of a deal breaker, she still hadn't found the time to mention her regenerative abilities to me.

And we hadn't even defined the relationship yet (I felt particularly juvenile wondering about that). As far as I knew, she saw me as nothing more than a good friend. Who she liked to kiss. And hold hands with.

I was confused.

"So tell us, Michael, what are you studying at Arlington?"

My eyes snapped up to meet Noah's and a green bean fell off of my fork. Claire looked up from her plate long enough to give me an amused look and then looked back down meekly.

"I'm still exploratory," I said, regaining composure and flashing what I hoped was a winning smile.

"Nothing wrong with that," Sandra's boy-friend said kindly. The yappy little dog in his lap barked loudly twice before he stuffed a piece of ham into its mouth.

Noah gave the man a glance that at once agreed and said 'if you interrupt me again I'm going to drive this butter knife through your heart.' It made him nervous, but I'd been on the wrong end of looks far more hostile than that before.

"You have to have some interests," Noah probed, taking a sip of his red wine—which I had been denied due to my 'age'—and settling one of his hands on that of the blonde woman at his side. I thought her name might have been Lauren, she looked familiar.

"I'm in a Literature class I find stimulating," I said, shrugging my shoulders and kicking myself mentally for using the word stimulating when I was posing as a 20-year-old kid. No one really seemed to notice though.

"Literature?" Sandra asked sharply. It appeared the mother did not approve.

"Umm… yes," I said, "Although that's not the only one."

"What other classes are you taking?" This time it was Claire's brother (Lyle, not Larry) who spoke. He, at least, seemed genuinely interested. Maybe it was because he would be applying to colleges soon himself.

I referred back to the schedule I'd forced myself to memorize after enrolling. I rarely attended the three other classes my stolen credit card was paying for, but I did go once in a while.

"I enjoy my design class. It's introductory, but it's really interesting. So far we've been able to study a bunch of really old buildings, mostly in Europe, but still beautiful."

"So you want to go in to architecture? Good man." Sandra's boyfriend was faux toasting me.

Claire looked up at me, one eye-brow raised. I'd never really given her a straight answer to that question. It was a game we played.

_"What are you going to be when you're grown up?" she would ask_.

_I am grown up. _

_"I don't know. Maybe I'll build things."_

_"What sorts of things?"_

_Relationships?_

_"Things that will last."_

_"So you want to be an architect?"_

_"I never said that." _

"It's one of the career paths I'm considering," I said carefully, meeting Sandra's eyes. She seemed relieved that I wasn't planning on writing or something.

Claire smirked and reached for her Martinelli's, raising the glass to her lips and sipping slowly as her gaze locked onto mine.

"So where are you from, Michael?" It was Noah again.

"Queens," I said, "My mother and father moved there when I was very young. I actually attended Queensborough Community for a while after I graduated."

I realized my mistake at once.

"But it was only for an art class." I amended quickly, "My mother insisted I do something between graduation and Arlington."

"Why didn't you go directly to University?" It was Lauren this time. She was staring at me with her head tilted slightly to the side. It unnerved me that this woman I'd never met before, who was only dating my—for lack of a better word—girlfriend's father, should seem so… wary.

"I procrastinated the application process," I said quickly, not meeting her gaze.

Lyle muttered something along the lines of "yeah, I know all about that," before his mother shushed him and the table fell into an awkward stillness again.

I could practically hear Claire's discomfort from across the table.

The rest of dinner went by fairly quickly and uneventfully. Noah and Sandra seemed to be going to great lengths to include everyone in the inanest chatter possible. I got the impression that the last family gathering hadn't gone especially well.

When everyone was finished I offered to help Claire clean things up. Lyle made some excuse and disappeared to his room, and the adults made their way into the living-room to drink some more wine and make small talk.

"How was your morning?" I asked once the kitchen door swung shut behind us, "I only ask because I think we both know your evening was awkward as hell." I was rewarded with a laugh as she grabbed my hand, pulling me to the sink where the dishes were piled high and kissing me once on the cheek. I was glad I'd shaved.

"It was fine. I got an iPod touch from my mom and an external hard-drive from my dad. Lyle didn't get me anything, but that's typical. Lauren and Doug hadn't arrived yet, so it was nice."

"Harsh,"

"True. Watching my parents interact when their significant others are around… it's like watching a train wreck. Which I've done before, so I would know."

I arched one brow. "You've seriously seen a train wreck?" I knew the answer, but she didn't know that.

"Well. I saw the wreckage." She didn't seem to want to say anything more. She had that distant look in her eyes that I'd come to equate with her musing over her powers. Something inside of me screamed, feeling deprived and angry with her for not just telling me already. I pushed that irrational little feeling away quickly before I had time to examine its roots.

"So. Do you have room for another gift in your room?" I teased.

Her eyes widened, sparkling and delighted. "You didn't! I told you, you didn't have to!"

I knew then that I'd made the right decision, getting her a gift.

"It's nothing really. I didn't even wrap it. If it makes you more comfortable, you can call it a hand-me-down."

I took it out of my pocket, where it had been nestled throughout dinner. It was warm in my hand.

"It was my mothers, but please don't feel weird about it, because honestly I have nothing else to do with her things."

The gold watch sparkled in the light. I'd spent hours cleaning it last night, taking it apart and putting it back together until it looked new and ran perfectly. Claire just seemed to stare for a while, unable to drag her eyes from the watch lying in my hand. I could feel the face against my palm, ticking like a little heartbeat.

"Thank-you," she said at last, clearing her throat and looking up at me. Her eyes were swimming in unshed tears and there was a panicked sort of expression on her face.

And I knew then that she was thinking of me. Not Michael, but Gabriel. I was the reason she'd hesitated. The thought of me and my watches had scared her. And I found myself wishing that she could see me, really see me, without fear.

She took the watch gingerly, held it in her hand for a moment before holding it out to me.

"Put it on me, please?" she said. I obliged. It looked perfect on her slender wrist, gleaming and ticking. And I felt triumphant. She was wearing something of Gabriel Gray's now, something I'd cried over and sweat for. She was wearing something of mine. A part of me.

"It's beautiful," she said softly, "Kind of makes what I got you look like finger-paints."

"You got me something? I thought—"

"Wait here," she said, running out of the room. She came back with a wrapped parcel about three feet tall and two wide. It was thin.

"You didn't have to," I echoed her earlier words.

"I know. I wanted to. Besides, it made me think of you. I couldn't pass it up."

Beneath the silvery paper was a print, done in smoky blacks and browns and purples, of Saint Patrick's Cathedral. I'd taken my first communion there.

"You don't have to hang it or anything. I just thought you might like it," she said in a rush.

This time it was my turn to be speechless.

"It's great," I said at last, clearing my throat so I could look up at her.

She was smiling hopefully.

"I'm glad," she said.

And then she kissed me in that maddeningly sudden way of hers, pushing herself onto her tiptoes and pressing her lips against mine fervently before dropping back down and turning to the sink.

"How about these dishes," she said.

We did them in silence, and when it was over we joined the rest of the family. She held my hand in front of them.

It felt like my heart began to ache.

* * *

**A/N: This is one of my favorite chapters so far, so I do hope you all enjoy it. Sorry for the delay in posting, but I went home for the weekend and got distracted by homework and family. Please remember to leave comments, as those are the only way we know you like/dislike what we are writing. We're starting to make some new decisions for the tale, so if you have any suggestions, don't be afraid to voice them. We do listen, in fact, something one of you said recently influnced chapter 11 as we wrote it. Cheers! **

**--Mel and Chuck**


	9. Of Defense and Definitions

**Chapter Nine: Of Defense and Definitions**

After Christmas there was a whole new drama to deal with.

"How was your holiday?" Gretchen asked when we moved back in. I made the mistake of mentioning that Michael had joined my family for Christmas dinner, and her face immediately fell.

"Wow. I guess I hadn't realized how tight you guys are. Am I going to get a wedding announcement soon?" She was joking, but her expression told me she was hurt.

"Michael doesn't have any family," I said. "He was going to spend Christmas here on campus. How could I not invite him?"

"No, you're right. I'm just your roommate; it's not like our friendship is as important. I get that."

"Gretchen, please. Of course you're important to me," I pled. "But Michael is, too."

"Have you screwed him?"

I was flabbergasted. When I did get my voice back, though, I was indignant. "Excuse me, but that's none of your business."

She turned her back towards me. "Guess that answers my question."

"No, I haven't!"

Gretchen looked back at me. "Whatever. I'm going to buy my books." I needed to buy mine too, but somehow I didn't think she wanted my company just then.

I groaned and sat down on my bed. I didn't want Gretchen to be mad at me, but it wasn't like I was going to stop talking to Michael just to make her feel better.

My phone beeped as I got a text message. Speak of the devil.

_All moved in?_

_Yeah. Do you want to hang out? Gretchen's not talking to me._

_Sure. I'll be outside in a minute._

I tucked my phone into my pocket and walked down to sidewalk under my window. Sure enough, he was already standing next to the bench, waiting for me.

"Is everything okay?" he asked as I hugged him. He took my hand and we sat down.

"She's upset because I took you home to meet my family," I sighed. "She's jealous."

"I'm sorry," he said honestly. "Would it make you feel better if we backed off for a little while?" I was touched that he was willing to change his behavior to improve my relationship with Gretchen. But would it make things better?

"No." I shook my head decisively. "I'm really happy right now, and if she can't be happy for me, lying about it isn't going to help. Honesty's probably the best policy on this one."

He grinned at that. "Are you saying that honesty isn't always the best policy?"

I smiled, trying to keep things light and not entirely succeeding. "No."

_But safety first. And sometimes honesty is just plain dangerous_.

"What classes do you have this semester?" I asked to change the subject.

"Um, another design class, an anatomy course, psychology, and sociology. Those last two are just intro courses, though."

It made me laugh. "You really are exploratory. Do you have any idea what you want to do with your degree?"

"Sure I do. But I'm taking classes that interest me." He stretches and his joints pop audibly. "There's no rush to narrow my focus. I've got all the time in the world."

"Not really, though. You have to get serious sometime. Heck," I said, only half-joking, "you've only got fifty or sixty years left." His smile changed into something more quizzical and serious.

"What a depressing outlook on life," he commented. "I don't really see it that way at all. Is that how you plan your life? Make your decisions? 'I'm going to die soon'?" His gaze is so intense that I shift in my seat.

"No, I guess not. Sorry, Michael." I grinned ruefully. "I'll ease up on the doom and gloom for a while."

He squeezed my hand lightly and said, "I think you are the most mixed-up girl I've ever known, Claire."

"Mixed up? Gee, thanks, that's exactly what I was hoping you'd say." I nudged him. "What's that supposed to mean anyway?"

"I just mean…you…" His brow wrinkled as he searched for the right words. He looked so adorable and fretful that my breath caught for just a moment. "You're so beautiful, but you're also full of light and laughter…and I sound unnecessarily effusive right now." He laughed at himself before continuing, "But still. You sometimes get so serious, and…you're just really special, Claire." His eyes were dark and serious, intent on my face.

My throat was dry; I had to swallow hard before I could speak. "Yeah, I guess maybe I am." I felt horribly guilty. Here was Michael telling me how special I was, when he didn't even really know. I was lying to him, and he thought I was the most honest, mixed-up, special girl in the world.

He leaned forward then and kissed me. I took the opportunity to blink away a few tears before I melted against him. His approach was always a mixture of confidence and surprise, like he couldn't believe himself. There was something else, too: a sense of restrained power, strength. He was always in control.

We pulled apart, remembering where we were, and I thought I saw him blush slightly. "Um, this is going to sound really stupid. But we are…dating, right?"

"Yeah," I said, a smile growing on my face, "I'd say we are."

"Oh good."

A rush of good feeling overcame me, and I was suddenly intensely grateful that I had met Michael and gotten to know him, grateful to know that I could, after all, handle having a boyfriend. A boyfriend who thought I was special, even when he didn't know that I was Miss Miracle-Gro. Maybe someday I could think about mentioning that to him. After all, Gretchen had taken it pretty well.

"Hello?" Michael's voice brought me back to the present and out of my daydreams. "Come back, Claire." I shook my head and looked up at him.

"Is everything okay?" he asked with a smile.

"Yeah, of course. I was just thinking about everything you said. You're pretty special too, you know." His grin got even wider as he kissed my cheek.

"I'm glad you think so."

* * *

**A/N: Please remember to leave comments, as those are the only way we know you like/dislike what we are writing. **

**--Mel and Chuck**


	10. Of Steps and Revelations

**Chapter Ten: Of Steps and Revelations**

Making out was fun. I had enjoyed it with Brody (until he'd tried to rape and kill me) and I had certainly enjoyed it with West, but I wasn't exactly certain of how it would be with Michael. He was always so hesitant when he kissed me, pausing for a moment and then meeting my lips like he was exploring and memorizing the dips and curves he found there.

Which was why, when I invited him up to my room at the beginning of the new semester, I was nervous. I hoped I wasn't being to forward and that he wouldn't get the wrong idea, but I thought I was ready for some light making out on the bed—clothes on. Besides, I got the feeling Michael had never really done the whole necking thing before. He had already admitted to me that the whole 'dating thing' was a bit 'new to him,' and if I was being honest with myself, it was certainly new to me. Things with Brody had ended before they had a chance to begin, West had been a big fat secret, and Alex… well, he was Alex.

"Nice place," Michael said from the doorway. Gretchen was gone, but she had definitely left her mark on the place. Above her bed a collage with cut outs of models from Vogue and Cosmo hung beside a framed snake-skin and a calendar with x's on every day but the current January 22nd. Unfolded panties and tights were strewn across the bed and her side of the floor.

"Umm, yeah. This is my side." I moved to sit on my bed, motioning to the desk near the window and the small shelves I'd piled with books and photos. Michael crouched near the nightstand, staring intently at one of the frames.

"Is this you," he asked. I strained to look at the photo. It was of me and my family at Sea-World. I was nine. And had my arm thrown over a seven year old Lyle. Mom and dad held hands behind us, she in a wide sunhat and dad with a smear of sun block on his nose.

"Yeah. I'm the one with the knobby knees and the princess t-shirt."

Michael smiled, straightening up and standing awkwardly, hands stuffed into his pockets. "It's cute," he said, "The only family photo I have of my parents of I is in my dad's shop. He's scowling and my mom is trying to keep me from putting a link into my mouth."

I smile at him. I can't really imagine him at such a young age, trying to stuff everything within reach into his toddler mouth.

"What kind of shop did your dad own?" I ask.

Michael tenses before I remember that his father probably isn't the safest topic.

"An antique shop. He restored things," and just like that the subject is closed.

He stands there for a few more seconds before I can't take the silence anymore.

"Come sit with me," I say, "You're too tall over there."

He grins, but complies. The weight of him on the other side of the bed makes everything bounce and shift. I've never had a man here before, sitting on the edge of my bed with his hands sitting awkwardly at his sides. Gretchen had thrown herself across this mattress a hundred times before, but there was something drastically different about having him here, long legs stretched out in front of him and shoulders slumped slightly forward in an attempt to be comfortable. It was far more awkward than I'd imagined it… and I _had _imagined it. Of course, in my imagination, he actually did something other than sit there.

"Claire," he said finally. I jumped in my own skin at the sound of his voice—like an idiot.

"Yeah," I said, swallowing.

"I was just wondering… umm… what we're—I mean, sorry. Jesus." He dropped his face down into his hands, rubbing his eyes vigorously and shaking his head.

And despite all of his stumbling, the obvious nerves and insecurity, I found that seeing him that way gave me the motivation and the courage I needed to take the next step.

I was across the bed before he could move again, taking his hands in mine and looking up at him, our eyes meeting and holding. He had beautiful eyes. I took in the rest of him as my palms settling on his cheeks. He hadn't shaved that morning and I could feel it. Wide eyes, soft lips, high cheekbones.

He gulped. "Claire?"

"Yeah?"

"I don't know if we should—"

But I cut him off. I didn't want to hear it. I wanted to kiss him.

And I did, pressing my lips to his and snuggling close. I could feel his firm chest against mine, his hand wrapping around my waist and holding me close. His mouth moved over mine, opening slightly and closing over my lower lip before drawing away. His eyes fluttered open as he looked at me.

"I like this," he managed to whisper hoarsely.

And I smiled, leaning forward again and letting one hand brush through the hair at the nape of his neck. He kissed like an explorer, gentle and determined, and soon we were sprawled out across the bed, lying side by side and breathing into each other.

I decided then and there, lying on my bed and exchanging soft kisses and smiles, that I loved kissing Michael Garrison—and that I was probably falling for him. I just couldn't decide whether it was good news or bad. It was normal wasn't it, having a relationship with someone of the opposite se, kissing in college and spending time together, keeping huge secrets about your genetic make-up.

I forced myself to push that thought from my head and continue kissing. I really liked kissing. And then his hand was skimming up my side, keeping modestly above my t-shirt and making me laugh gaspingly against his cheek.

"What?" he asked, looking confused and completely adorable with swollen lips and half-lidded eyes.

"That tickles," I said, biting my lower lip as his hand became more firm and a slow smile spread across his face.

And then his palm was cupping my breast over cloth and my breath caught in my throat.

"Does this tickle?" he wanted to know. All I could do was shake my head. Then it was his turn to laugh as he removed his hand, and continued kissing me, stroking my cheek with his fingers and tracing the contours of my lips with his tongue. It was fabulous, just laying there and feeling his lips against mine, his chest rising and falling above mine and his body pressed firmly to the bed beside me.

"Claire!" Someone was shouting my name and it was completely out of place. I jumped, pulling away from Michael and staring wide-eyed at the door. Was that…

"Claire, its Peter! Open your door," there was a rapid-fire knock outside of the room and I groaned, pushing myself up from the bed and wincing.

"Just a minute!" I called. Michael was sitting up now, running a hand through his hair which fell limply onto his forehead anyway. He looked worried.

"I'm so sorry," I said quickly, "It's my uncle."

Michael quirked an eye-brow. "Insistent uncle," he muttered, trying to sweep the hair out of his eyes again.

I smiled at him, grimacing in the process, and then got to the door, opening it wide and leaning against the door frame. Hopefully Peter saw Michael and took the hint. I loved Peter, he was my Hero and one of the only family members I knew without a doubt I could trust… but he was totally cock-blocking.

"Hi Peter," I said.

He looked worried, intense and brooding, all words I'd come to equate with him in the past.

"Claire, we need to talk. I—" and then he caught sight of Michael and his expression hardened, mouth closing tight and the crease between his eyes deepening. "Who is this?" he asked abruptly. My own eyebrows raised.

"Excuse y—"

"I'm Michael," Michael interrupted, stepping up behind me and extending a hand to Peter, but instead of taking it he stuffed his hands back into his pockets and looked back at me.

"This isn't a social visit," he said pointedly. Jaw dropping open and eyes wide at how impossibly rude he was being, I stared. But Michael seemed to take the hint. Letting his hand drop he folded his hands behind his back.

"Right," he said softly. "Look, I should probably go, Claire. I'll see you tomorrow?"

I nodded, absolutely speechless. Michael leaned down as he moved past me, pecking me on the cheek on his way out and smiling awkwardly. He slid out beside Peter and made his way down the hall.

"Who's that?" Peter asked.

Still in shock, I shook my head, trying to find the right words.

"My boyfriend," I said finally. "Christ, Peter, could you have been any more rude?"

"Sorry," he said as he slipped into the room, crossing to the window and peering out. He watched Michael go with an expression like distaste across his face. It was obvious the apology was insincere. "I can only stay for a minute or so. I have to be back to work soon."

"In New York," I said, disbelief etched across my face.

"I'm really fast now, and you weren't answering your phone," Peter said in response, "But look. I just came to tell you something. Samuel's back in town."

"How do you know about—"

"I saw him before, but then again today. He was talking to my mom."

"Angela?" I asked.

He gave me a pointed look. "College is doing great things for your observance, Claire," he teased.

"Wait, how did you even know I know about Sam—Oh. You've been talking to my dad." I said finally. I guess it was inevitable, but since Nathan's funeral, I hadn't really expected Peter to want anything to do with my dad for a very long time.

"Noah asked to talk to me, said he had some pertinent information. I figured it was worth it," he paused for a moment. "Anyway. This Samuel guy. It looks like he's still recruiting… and I think maybe he's dangerous."

I rolled my eyes at that. "You and my dad both," I said, turning from the window and staring longingly at the disheveled bed. Peter caught sight of it and quickly averted his gaze.

"Listen Claire, I know you're still pissed at your dad. You have reason to be… but there's something off about Samuel. I think you probably saw it at some point while you were there with them."

"How did you know I was—"

"Your dad."

"Right."

There was silence in the room then as I sat down on the bed and Peter continued to stare out of the window.

"Be careful, Claire. I have a bad feeling about Samuel. If he contacts you again…"

"I'll let you know," I said softly.

"Great," Peter responded. And then he was heading towards the door.

"Peter," I called as he stood in the doorway.

"Yeah?" he turned to face me.

"How are you?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "Fine. Call me sometime when you're free. We'll do lunch."

And then he was gone, just a strong breeze in his wake and an empty room full of questions.

Why was Samuel recruiting, expanding his family? Why was Peter making day trips to Arlington to tell me as much? Why was my dad talking to Peter? And _why_ did it all seem so trivial in comparison to Michael's absence?

* * *

**A/N: I know there has been some concern about Sylar not being himself (literally) and wanted to assure you that the other shoe WILL drop. Eventually. Please remember to leave comments, as those are the only way we know you like/dislike what we are writing. **

**--Mel and Chuck**


	11. Of Silence and Secrets

**Chapter Eleven: Of Silence and Secrets**

_I don't know what to think about Dad anymore. He lies to us all the time and then says things will be different, but they never are…_

I closed the book with a snap and stuffed it into my backpack in frustration. It was worthless—I already knew all about her daddy issues. The journal wasn't much help, since I no longer cared about her past so much as her present. And because I had already stolen the stupid book, I couldn't continue to sneak into her room and read her more relevant and recent thoughts. My irritation had not gone unnoticed.

"You okay?" the boy sitting next to me whispered. I fixed him with a glare before standing up and leaving class. The professor was talking about empathy and how the lack of it was one of the defining characteristics of a sociopath. I laughed darkly as the door slammed behind me. I would've loved to show her just how empathic a real sociopath could be.

I needed to get off campus and out of this body for a few hours. I walked a few miles away before reverting to my real form and flying away. I needed to clear my head and think straight. I was tired of feeling like I was treading water with this situation.

I liked Claire, I thought to myself as I floated a few hundred feet above the earth. I was sincerely happy that I had gotten to know her…inasmuch as she had let me. The girl was by turns surprisingly open and more often a subtly locked door. It was as though she thought I wouldn't realize she was keeping secrets. Once again I wished that I had Matt Parkman's ability—it would make things so much easier.

I still didn't know what I was supposed to do with the young woman. Her company was enjoyable, but I wasn't getting anywhere useful. My mind wandered to the softness of her skin and the small sighs she made when I kissed her…very enjoyable. But there was work to do, and I brought myself back to the task at hand. She liked Michael, not me. Perhaps if she liked him enough, I could bring her around to liking Gabriel. I didn't allow myself to remember that as far as Claire was concerned, Gabriel wasn't a factor; she was preoccupied by Sylar. Maybe that was the key—after all, hate wasn't so very different from love.

It was then that I realized that I was acting under the assumption that I was meant to make her care about the real me. I shrugged as I returned to the ground. Why not? It wasn't as though I had a lot of ideas to go on. It would do, until a better one came along. And the idea wasn't necessarily distasteful. She was different than I had previously known: a little more confident, more cynical, and still worth hanging around.

The trick would be to force her hand. Make her feel safe, back her into a secure little corner so that she would want to reveal herself to me, all without letting her know that it was my idea and not her own. I didn't think it would be too difficult for me. I just had to find a way to make her feel even more protected than she already was. And really, the girl had her own serial killer as a boyfriend; how much less harm could she be in? All I had to do was reveal a little bit of myself to her, and I was sure she'd open up, eager to have someone like her who could empathize. Disintegration seemed innocuous enough: nonthreatening and not one of the powers I considered a trademark. She wouldn't even recognize it as my own.

I shifted back into the form Claire would welcome, and dialed her line.

"Hello?"

"Claire, we need to talk. Are you busy?" I added just enough urgency to sound nervous, and I knew she would drop whatever she was doing.

"No, I'm in my room. Is everything all right?" Of course she sounded concerned.

"Yes. Can I come over?"

"Sure. If Gretchen comes back, we can always go somewhere else. See you in a little bit."

I closed the phone and smiled. No point in putting it off, and I was tired of the lack of action. It was time to change things. I took the stairs two at a time, remembering to lose the smile and look anxious just as she opened the door.

"Come in," she said, brushing my cheek with a kiss. "Tell me what's wrong."

We sat on her bed. She was holding my hand and watching my face, and I congratulated myself on a job well done. It was just so easy.

"Claire, I'm tired of hiding part of who I am. I've been keeping this secret for a long time, but I don't want to lie to you anymore. I need to tell you something important about me."

Her hands withdrew as I spoke and her eyes became guarded. "Go ahead."

"I…I'm special," I started, keeping a smirk off my face. "I have this thing I can do."

And just like that, her face changed. She leaned forward, reaching for my hand again, and eyes widened. "Like…an ability? What exactly do you mean, you're special?" I could practically read her thoughts all over her face: excitement, curiosity, and a mild sense of shock that she should find yet another special.

"I should probably just show you." I stood and went to her desk, pulling a pencil out and setting it on the surface. I focused on it, making it shimmer, and snapped my fingers. The pencil dissolved into tiny particles, dust really. I looked back at Claire and bit my lip. "I'm sorry."

I turned as if to leave, but she grabbed my arm and hauled me back down to the bed. "Michael, that was amazing!"

"Amazing," I said quietly. "Is that what you call freaks?"

"You're not a freak. You're incredible," she said with excitement. "This is so cool! I read a book once about stuff like this." She touched my face and told me, "I'm glad you told me."

I waited, but that seemed to be it. Now was the part that she was supposed to unveil her own secret. But nothing came. She just kept telling me how great this was and how incredible I was and assuring me that she would never tell a soul. Really? She was going to keep her mouth shut about her healing? The only hint I got was a half-second glance she gave to the pair of scissors on her desk, but other than that she was the perfect actress.

"I'm going to the bathroom real fast," she said, standing up suddenly. "You can stay here. I'll be right back."

Gretchen walked in a few seconds later.

"Hey," she said. She didn't do much to conceal her dislike for me, but I was still surprised when she finally turned and burst out, "Has she really not mentioned anything?"

"What do you mean?" I asked slowly. What was she doing?

"So even though she likes you sooo much," she dragged out sarcastically, "she hasn't said word one about her little abnormality? Guess she doesn't like you all that much after all."

"Spit it out, Gretchen," I snapped, my nerves running thin. "What abnormality?"

"Claire's a little unusual, _Mike_," the brunette said with a venomous smile. "She can cut herself, burn herself, fall off a building, and walk away perfectly fine. I've seen it myself. She just pops her bones back into place, her skin heals up, and she's left with only bloodstains.

"You should be happy, though. Her freaky body should make it awfully pleasant for you in bed." Her voice was bitter and cutting, and I felt myself getting hot with anger.

"Claire is more special than you know how to deal with," I retorted coldly. "It's too bad she prefers men to clingy, unattractive lesbians."

As I left the room barely controlling my temper, she shot back, "If you don't believe me, try pushing her into traffic sometime." I walked away, sickened that one 'friend' could stab the other in the back so easily.

* * *

**A/N: Just wanted to let you know that we penned an epic chapter tonight. We like to stay 4 posts ahead of the audience just to give us editing time, etc... but you will see it soon. Let's just say we're both very pleased with the way Collide is... careening. We hope you are too. Please remember to leave comments, as those are the only way we know you like/dislike what we are writing. **

**--Mel and Chuck**


	12. Of Fools and Flights

**Chapter Twelve: Of Fools and Flights**

When I got back to the room Michael was gone and Gretchen was sitting on her bed with her hands folded tightly in her lap. I got a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.

"Where's Michael?" I asked, patting my hands dry on my jeans and glancing warily around the room.

Gretchen made a face at the question, rolling her eyes and sneering. It wasn't a great look on her. "Of course that's what you want to know first," she said, standing up with her arms crossed. "Where's Michael?"

My jaw dropped open at her tone. She hadn't been this confrontational about Michael since we got back from winter break. "Um, yeah," I said, trying to stay calm, "It's not that hard of a question."

"You know what, Claire Bennet?" she spit my name out like a bad word, "Screw you."

"What is your _problem_?" My voice was raised high and I was thoroughly confused. What had happened that had set her on edge like this?

"What's my problem?" Gretchen echoed, "Oh, I don't know. Maybe the fact that you've completely ditched me for a penis that you don't even TRUST enough to tell your freaky little secret?"

My face went white at her words. "Stop it," I hissed, taking a few steps towards her.

"No," Gretchen yelled, "You know what? I've stood by for long enough! You spend more time with this guy than your best friend, you're probably doing him like a slut, and you can't even tell him that your fingers grow back when you cut them off?"

"Keep your voice down," I warned, taking another step towards her. All I needed was for our neighbors to hear the argument.

"I will not!" she shrieked, "You've been stupid and neglectful," she shouted, "And I'm sick of it."

"What the hell has gotten into you?" My voice was so low I could barely hear is.

She scoffed, spinning around and facing the wall with her hands on her hips. "I think the more appropriate question is _who _has gotten into you. Or maybe who hasn't."

"That's not fair, and completely uncalled for," I was getting angry and my voice was beginning to shake.

"Oh it's completely called for," Gretchen hissed, "And don't act like you're surprised by it. Or who knows, maybe you are surprised. You've barely seen me at all since Dear Mike came onto the scene."

"Is this about you being _jealous_?" I sounded disbelieving, but I'd seen it coming for a while now.

"No! I'm not even sure why I liked you in the first place. Christ." She spun again, this time to face me with her arms folded across her chest.

There was a pause, a heavy silence in the air while I waited for her to say something else, but she didn't.

"Gretchen, where is this coming from? You're my best friends… I don't understand—"

"No, of course you don't," she said bitterly. "But really, Claire, it's not just about me. It's about you, you and your inability to open up, you and your stupid sense of self preserving normalcy. You think I don't know that the only reason you don't like me is because I'm not 'normal' enough for you?"

"That's not true, Gretch! I—"

"Just shut up and let me finish!" She shouted. I crossed my arms and shut my mouth tightly.

"I'm a lesbian and being a lesbian isn't in your plan. Okay. I get it. But the fact that you would go around with this guy, kiss him and whatever, take him home to meet your god-damned family… and not even tell him your secret?" She fell silent for a moment and got a pained, rueful expression on her face, "Well, you're just being a whore for a normal college experience Claire, and I'm not about to let it continue. We're 'friends' after all, right?"

She said the last bit nastily and I felt a cold chill run up my spine.

"Gretchen… what did you do?"

She smiled bitterly before walking over to face the window.

"Only what you should have in the beginning. We'll see how long Mr. Wonderful sticks around now."

I crossed the room before I really had time to register what I was doing, and then I was spinning her around and shaking her by the shoulders.

"What did you do?" I shouted, panicked.

_God, she didn't, please God don't let her have done it, _I thought.

"I told him," she said simply. "I told him all about your ability, about how you can step into traffic and come away just fine with a few flecks of blood in your perfect blonde hair."

I slapped her. I didn't even register that I'd done it until I heard the sound of flesh on flesh and felt the stinging in my hand.

She just stood there, silent and glaring as I stumbled back until I hit my bed.

"Get out," she hissed finally, my palm print livid across her cheek and her eyes filled with tears. "Get out and don't ever come back, you fucking freak!"

I ran. I couldn't really think of anything else to do. I bumped into a few people in the hallways as I went until finally I was outside and the sun was bright and I could feel wind on my face, making my tears run cold.

What had I done? I'd hit her, my best friend. She'd told Michael I could heal.

Shit.

My heart was beating a thousand miles a minute by the time I finally stopped running and doubled over next to a tree, clutching my stomach and trying to catch my breath. I didn't even know where I was. I'd never been to this side of the campus. I didn't recognize the buildings around me or the name of the street to my left.

What was I going to say to Michael. Did he believe her? Could I cover this up? God.

"Claire?" I looked up, wiped my eyes and focused. It was him.

"Michael?"

"Claire what happened?" His arms enveloped me before I could say anything and soon I was soaking his navy polo with my tears. And he just held me and let me cry, his hand rubbing circles into my back and his other running through my tangled mess of hair.

It took me several minutes to calm down and by the time I had, he was looking worried, his brow furrowed and mouth tense.

"What happened?" he asked again. There were people nearby staring at us and I hid my face in his shirt again.

"Gretchen," I said, voice muffled, "We argued… about what she said to you."

His arms tensed around me, an iron band around my body.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you before," I murmured into his shirt. "I just… it's difficult. I wasn't sure whether…" My voice trailed off.

He stood there, stiff and still for a while before speaking. I felt so miserable I could have sunk through the ground.

"It's true then. You can… heal?"

I nodded, still not feeling brave enough to look up.

He exhaled. I could feel his breath in my hair. "That's actually oddly comforting," he said finally. I tilted my face up to meet his gaze.

"What?" I was confused. Comforting?

"I said it's comforting."

"No, I heard you. You're not… mad?"

And he got this disbelieving look on his face. "Mad?" He asked, "Why would I be mad? Claire, I can disintegrate things with the snap of a finger… and you expect me to be mad because you can heal?"

I blinked a few times, trying to formulate a whole sentence. This wasn't quite the reaction I had been expecting. "You're not angry? I mean, I didn't tell you. I didn't even tell you when you showed me what you can do."

Michael got a puzzled expression on his face. "Do you want me to be angry?" he wanted to know. I shook my head. "Good. It's a tough thing to share… the things that make us different. Even with the people we care about."

I looked up again, and there was an unfathomable expression on his face.

"What is it?" I asked. He shook his head, still holding me.

"Nothing," he said, leaning down to kiss me softly on the lips. He tasted like spearmint and oranges.

He led me back towards the other side of campus after that, asked me if I felt comfortable going back to my room. I shook my head.

"I can't go back there right now. I'm not sure I can… stay there anymore."

"Okay," he nodded. His hand was warm and heavy over mine. Reassuring.

"You want me to take you to your parent's place?" I shook my head again.

"They'll worry… can I… would you mind if I stayed with you for a while?" His eyes widened in surprise at my request and I thought I must have made a mistake. "I know it's a huge favor. I'm sorry. You can take me to my moms."

"No!" he said, hurridly. "It's fine. I'd love to have you. I've just…" his voice trailed off.

"What?"

"I've never had a girl stay over at my place before." He mumbled. It looked like he was blushing. I couldn't keep from smiling.

"Well, if it makes you feel better, I've never stayed at a guys place before."

He squeezed my hand in his and smiled as he led me in the direction of his car.

"So. This healing thing," he said as we walked, "How exactly does it work?"

We talked as we walked, and despite the fight with Gretchen and the ache in my chest, there was something soothing about holding his hand and having him know my secret. Maybe that was the silver lining on Gretchen's betrayal.

As he listened and we rounded the corner away from my dorm, I took a final look over my shoulder, found our window with my eyes, and saw her. Her arms were crossed, she was staring down at us. I couldn't see her expression, but a cold chill ran down my spine.

* * *

**A/N: Please remember to leave comments, as those are the only way we know you like/dislike what we are writing. **

**--Mel and Chuck**


	13. Of Hands and Guns

**Chapter Thirteen: Of Hands and Guns**

After the fallout with Gretchen, I went to live with my dad. I couldn't stay with Michael—that felt like too much, too soon, and his place really couldn't fit two people. My dad was thrilled to have me, anyway. His apartment had a spare bedroom, and the walls were thick (thank God, since Lauren spent a lot of time over). I think my dad and Rene went to have a talk with my ex-roommate at one point; she knew a little too much for their comfort, and it was easier to just erase anything to do with me. It was okay. A ten-minute drive to campus, and I didn't have to worry about a jealous roommate anymore. Of course, there were downsides to living with my father again.

"Come on in," I invited Michael as he stepped across the threshold. "I told him we'll be studying, so if he asks…"

"Why, Claire," he responded with slight teasing in his voice, "can it be you have no intention of actually doing work today?"

I wrinkled my nose. "None whatsoever."

"Shocking."

"It is the weekend," I murmured as he pulled me towards him. "We deserve a break."

He kissed me, relatively chastely. A good thing, too, since my dad chose that exact moment to come out of his tiny 'office', which was really a corner of the larger bedroom. He and Lauren had chosen to work in there today; I think to allow us some privacy. That was really more Lauren's thing than my dad's. I had to give it to her: she was good at that kind of thing.

"Hi there, Michael," my dad said mildly. Michael turned to see him and smiled.

"Hello Mr. Bennet. Good to see you again."

"What are you kids up to?" I could have kicked my dad. I told him twice that we would be studying, but he just had to get involved. It was definitely one of the disadvantages to living with him.

"Well, I have some psych homework and an anatomy quiz to study for, and I think Claire said she had an essay."

"Good, good. What are you learning in anatomy?"

Michael grinned. "We're studying the central nervous system. The brain and the spinal cord, you know."

"Okay then. Have fun, guys. Study hard." My dad disappeared back to whatever he and Lauren were working on, and we were left alone.

"Well, if you're going through flashcards or whatever," I said, winking as I led him into my room, "you can hang out on the bed, and I'll work at the desk." He laughed and dropped his backpack on the floor as I closed my door and locked it.

"I think you can stop with the act now. You are one of the worst liars I've ever met."

"Are you kidding?" I faked affront. "I am a great liar. Not that I do it that often."

"Oh, please. Your dad knows exactly what's going on. He's a reasonably smart guy."

I licked my lips and narrowed my eyes. "I hope he doesn't know _exactly_ what's going on," I said, pulling Michael onto the bed next to me. "That would be kind of gross."

His breath caught as my lips met his and his hands moved to bring me closer. We ended up flat on the bed, his hand moving on my breast, and it wasn't long before I could feel him hard against me. I pressed even closer to him, relishing the taste of his lips and the feeling of his tongue in my mouth, and wishing like hell that my dad and Lauren were not at home. He bit my lip lightly and I felt like my heart could pump right out of my chest.

My right hand left its place at his shoulder and roamed down his chest and his abs. I liked the way I could feel him breathing hard under my fingers, and they trailed even lower, reaching the waist of his jeans. His hips jerked involuntarily and I smiled against his mouth as I undid the button and slid the zipper down. I freed him from his boxers and he let out a little strangled moan.

"Shh," I whispered as I took him in my hand. "Don't let them hear you."

His eyes were squeezed shut and he was biting his lip so hard I was surprised he hadn't broken the skin. "Jesus…"

I played around with different rhythms until I found one that made him gasp again and grinned, settling in. "Like it?" He nodded once, his entire body tense beneath me.

I said it on impulse. "I really care about you, Michael." As soon as I did, I felt stupid—who wants to hear that in the middle of what I was doing to him? But his head lifted and he opened his eyes, focusing in on my face as I kept stroking. He stared at me for so long that my hand slowed, sure that I had made things awkward.

"I love you too, Claire."

And for a minute all I could do was stare back. The words were sweet, but it wasn't what he said that gave me pause. The _way_ he said it, the intensity, reminded me of someone—and I couldn't figure out whom for the life of me. Finally I leaned forward and kissed him deeply before resuming my movement.

It wasn't eight seconds later that we heard the gunshots. My hand stopped and we looked at each other, eyes wide. "Dad," I whispered before running to the door and unlocking it.

"Claire, no!"

I threw open the door to find the living room a wreck. The front door was open, there was a large, well-muscled man standing over Lauren's body, and my father was nowhere to be seen.

"Dad!" my voice sounded shrilly through the apartment.

"Sorry, honey." The man cracked his knuckles and smiled. "Your dad's with my friends at the moment. You're going to come with me."

My blood ran cold as I took a step backward. "Did you kill her?"

"Her?" he asked, motioning towards Lauren. "Yep, she thought to take a shot at me, and I don't take kindly to threats." Lauren was dead, and my dad was missing. Shit.

"It's all right, darling. Your daddy's safe for now. My friends will take real good care of him. And you will need to come with me. Samuel wants to have a little talk." He moved faster than I thought possible, and suddenly I was thrown over his shoulder. From that angle I got a better look at Lauren's face, and something inside me twisted. My dad would be heartbroken. "We got to leave now."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a flash of light. The man went rigid and then collapsed under me. If any electricity traveled from his body to mine, it didn't even register. I rolled away from him, convinced he would come up swinging. Not so. Before I knew it, he was thrown against the opposite wall by an unseen force, and his throat was slit. I watched in horror as he bled to death in front of me. Then his body was released and he fell to the floor. I had seen that before…_oh no…_

I turned to see Michael standing with his hand outstretched and a mixed look of horror, regret, and vindication on his face. Suddenly my mind went into overdrive, and I started putting all the little pieces together. Oh God. Oh God.

I turned and threw up on the floor before either of us could say anything.

* * *

**A/N: Hope you're enjoying things! Please remember to leave comments, as those are the only way we know you like/dislike what we are writing. **

**--Mel and Chuck**


	14. Of Faces and Freaks

**Chapter Fourteen: Of Faces and Freaks**

I ran into the room after Claire, tucking myself back into my jeans and cursing. That had definitely been a gunshot. Christ. I ran from the bed to the door, the discomfort of my arousal quickly lessening. There really wasn't anything that made me lose an erection as quickly as an attack.

I made it to the room a few seconds after Claire. I heard her scream before I got there. "Dad!" she sounded desperate and my stomach tightened and churned. Was Noah dead? I wasn't exactly sure how I would feel about that, but I did know how devastated Claire would be.

I rounded the corner and found her thrown over the man's shoulder, the woman Lauren still and bloody on the ground.

She was kicking with her legs, pummeling with her fists, and the man met my eyes, grinning stupidly. I snapped.

With a growl I let the electricity well up through my palms and shoot out in a cobalt jet, striking the man and making him jerk violently and collapse onto the ground. Claire scrambled away as soon as she felt his grip slacken and I felt sick again. He would have taken her. If I hadn't been there he would have left the apartment with her slung over his shoulder. I growled again, picking him up telekinetically and throwing him against the wall. The man's eyes met mine, confused, horrified, terrorized. I scowled and slit his throat with a quick slash of my fingers.

I watched as he bled out, the red blood soaking the front of his shirt and pulsing out onto the floor. I saw the life leave his eyes, and I shuddered.

That was that then, and I could kill. My 'impotence' had been cured. All it had taken was the proper incentive. Claire. It struck me then what she must be seeing; Michael, hand outstretched towards the freshly dead man against the wall, shooting electricity out of his hands and slitting people's throats; quite interesting abilities for a young man who could only disintegrate inanimate objects.

I listened as she retched, emptying the contents of her stomach onto the carpet and unable to rise. Oh God. It was over then. Claire had seen me, the real me. She knew and it disgusted her. Of course it disgusted her. What kind of girl wouldn't have been terrified to find out that the man she'd just been touching intimately, her boyfriend who had just (stupidly) admitted his love for her, was the very same serial killer that had attacked and cut open her brain, killed her biological parents, and been the source of her nightmares? And I kind of doubted that I would be able to convince her that I was past all of that, given the display I'd just put on.

The dead man collapsed to the ground, drawing my gaze from Claire to him.

He was very dead indeed. His eyes had the same look I'd seen dozens of times, his blood was the same color as all the others. My stomach turned at the sight. So this was what it had come to again. Death. I was killing again. I felt the urge to vomit.

This wasn't how it was supposed to turn out. This couldn't have been the purpose of it all. I couldn't allow this relationship with Claire to be just another damned step towards my own insanity. What had Lydia said? I was impotent. Afraid of being alone for ever. And I was. I couldn't… Christ. I couldn't be the killer and have her. Cheerleaders didn't date serial killers. _What about watch-makers?_ The voice in my head asked. I closed my eyes briefly, made myself study the shape of the corpse on the ground. This wasn't the work of a watch maker.

So I was killing again. But not taking pleasure in it? In fact, the whole situation sickened me. Was that because of Claire? Was that the reason I'd been brought to her, because caring about her made caring about other people possible? Had being with Claire allowed me to kill the serial killer once and for all?

Claire grew still on the carpet, and still I was unable to move. I stared at her, eyes wide as she panted on her hands and knees, blonde hair loose around her face. She was shivering. And then she looked up, meeting my gaze.

Those green eyes were wide, horrified, shocked, pleading. She knew and yet she didn't want to believe. I didn't blame her. I would have tried to deny it if I were her too. I knew how she must be feeling. The same way I'd felt back when I was just Gabriel and I'd found out about Elle. Betrayed. Sick. Violent. Her whole world was ending in that moment, imploding and exploding like some sort of dying sun—all because of me.

"Claire," I tried. She shook her head, scrambling to her feet and staggering backwards. She was moving her mouth but no sound came out. "Please, Claire, listen to me." But I had nothing to say, nothing she wanted or needed to hear. I wouldn't have even known where to begin. So instead, I let my abilities do the talking.

Michael Garrison died and Sylar was reborn right in front of her in a not entirely remarkable display of shifting DNA and stolen powers. My hair receded to its normal length, cropped short and manageable. My eyes darkened and my muscle developed as the bones in my face reconstructed and my five-o-clock shadow made its appearance. When the transformation was complete I stood there, barefoot in jeans and a black t-shirt. I didn't have a lot of occasion to shave or dress well when I was myself.

Her eyes grew wider still and I could see the tears welling there. I ached to touch her, but I knew moving would be a bad decision at that point.

"Claire," I tried again. My voice was hoarse, pleading, "I know how this looks, but if you'll let me explain—"

She found her voice. "Explain?" she echoed, a soft, humorless laugh followed her two syllable word.

"Yes. I know you—"

"Where's Michael?" her voice was high, cautious, but she still didn't cry. Oh God. I wanted to hold her.

I cleared my throat. "I think you know the answer to that."

She shook her head, denying me. I knew how she felt. It was easier to pretend that Michael really existed, that I'd come in at the last minute looking like him, but that he was the one she'd been kissing and laughing with for the last three months. Had it really been that long? It couldn't have been. But the date proved me wrong. The end of November to the end of February—I'd spent a lot of time with her, much more than I had anticipated.

"Where is he?" She repeated. Her voice was pleading now as she backed against the wall.

I swallowed the lump in my throat, blinking rapidly.

"It's been me the whole time," I forced myself to say. She deserved at least that much, the ability to give up and hate me completely instead of hoping that Michael would come back to her. I could never have done that anyway, not at that point. Not after the way she was staring at me like I was a nightmare and a sacrilege. Michael was dead.

She shook her head and I thought she might actually cry, but Claire was stronger than that.

"Get out," she said, voice hoarse as she met my eyes unwaveringly. She refused to back down.

"Claire, please."

"Get out!" she shouted, her knees going weak as she sank down against the wall. I flinched as if I'd been slapped. Her rejection felt like a physical blow. I should have known that it would happen. I should have seen it.

I nodded, unsure of what else I could do. I couldn't really feel much of anything as I started for the door, her eyes on me the whole way. I couldn't feel the temperature or the carpet beneath my feet. Or the blood. I thought of the dead bodies again in the doorway. I turned to her.

"You should let me take care of them." I whispered, gesturing towards Lauren and the man I'd killed. "They don't need to be found here."

She was shaking all over at this point, she refused to look at me or at the bodies. She was in shock. I was at her side before I could stop myself, wrapping my arms around her and trying to hold her to me, to feel her heart beat against me and know that she was okay—but at the first touch of my skin to hers she started, yelping as if I'd stung her and bolting upright.

"Leave me alone," she hissed, tears falling furiously down her smooth cheeks now as she swung at me. The expanse of her palm collided with the stubble of my cheek, stinging and resounding. She rushed past me and out of the apartment before I had time to respond. I didn't go after her. I knew I was the last person who should. Instead, I watched through the window as she grabbed a cab, trying to keep my emotions in check and failing miserably.

That was it then. She knew now, and she was gone. No more secrets. No more lies. And apparently they had been the only things keeping us together. I laughed at my own thoughts. Of course they had been the only thing. It wasn't as if a cheerleader from Odessa had anything in common with a serial killer from Queens.

My heart twinged. Only that hadn't been exactly true. I'd been more myself than ever before when I was with her, had shown her parts of Gabriel Gray no one else had ever seen. Not Maya, not Elle, and certainly not my own parents. But apparently sharing yourself when you were wearing a different face and name negated all of the truths. I should have expected that. I _had_ expected it.

I turned away from the window once the cab disappeared from sight. I could already hear the police sirens in the distance, and the bodies would have to disappear before then, along with the blood. I thought for a moment of leaving them and getting out of that place… but I owed it to Claire to clean up my mess, to keep the police from detaining her so that she could find her father. No doubt she was going to see someone she trusted now. Peter Petrelli probably. I simmered inside at the thought.

He always had been the hero, the one who was destined to save the cheerleader and defeat evil. Why was I so surprised that even in this instance he'd won?

I turned to the bodies, leaning down to inspect the man first. I recognized him from the carnival, one of Samuel's goons. Anger welled up inside of me. So it was Samuel who had done this, who had forced my hand and tried to kidnap my girlfriend (I cringed inside at the word, but I can't help the thought). I cleaned up quickly, rocketing from the apartment to leave Lauren somewhere where she was sure to be found and hide the man's body so that I can find it later. It looked like Samuel was an inescapable reality now, and I had some hunting to do. Maybe once I saw him again I'd be able to test whether or not the whole impotence thing really had taken a leave of absence.

My stomach gave another sick twist. As appealing as the thought of hurting Samuel in that moment was, the thought of Claire's reaction to the violence here made me want to puke. I was nothing, and in no way deserving of her. How could I have let things go on for so long?

I didn't realize I had been heading aimlessly towards the college until I got there. I stopped outside of Claire's old dorm and sat on a bench.

What did I do next?

The cell-phone in my pocket chirped cheerily. Claire's ringtone.

I answered it, because I couldn't not.

"Michael? Michael where are you?" She said, breathless. I could tell she was still crying.

My heart broke.

"Michel doesn't exist, Claire." I said roughly, ending the call and stuffing the phone back into my pocket.

Michael couldn't exist.

* * *

**A/N: And there is the reveal you've all been waiting for. We hope you enjoyed reading it as much as we did writing. Please remember to leave comments, as those are the only way we know you like/dislike what we are writing. **

**--Mel and Chuck**


	15. Of Hope and Betrayal

**Chapter Fifteen: Of Hope and Betrayal**

I couldn't stop shaking. It had been bad enough watching Sylar appear where Michael had been standing, but when I called Michael's phone and heard Sylar's voice, I was completely unhinged. My dad was missing, Lauren was dead, and the one person I wanted to talk to turned out to have been the bad guy all along.

"Just let me out here," I said. We were getting farther and farther from the places I knew, and I wanted to be able to tell Peter where to find me. The cab driver grunted and pulled over, taking my money without a word. Maybe he was used to hysterical girls in the backseat.

I got out and dialed Peter's number with trembling fingers. "Hello?"

"Peter," I choked out. "Peter, I need you."

"Claire? What's wrong?" His concern brought on a new wave of tears.

"I can't talk about it on the phone. Can you please just come find me?" I gave him the cross-streets and he told me he would be there as soon as possible. I sat down under a tree and watched all the families having fun at the park.

"Claire?" I scrambled up to hug my uncle and cried some more. He eased me back to the ground and rubbed my shoulder. "Tell me what happened." It was a few minutes before I could manage to speak.

"We…we were at my dad's apartment. We were studying in my room. Michael and I. And then there was a shot, and we came out." I paused and gulped down more tears. "Lauren was dead, and my dad was kidnapped. And this guy tried to take me too, but he…Michael killed him. Peter, it's been Sylar the whole time. He pretended to be a college student and I dated him!" I thought suddenly of him standing there, arm outstretched in that familiar pose and the man bleeding in front of him; I pushed the thought away.

"Wait. _Sylar_ was your boyfriend?" Peter asked in disbelief.

"I didn't know," I wailed into his shoulder. "I thought he was just a normal guy."

"So then who kidnapped your dad?"

"Samuel. Samuel has him," I said shakily. Somehow, as horrible as my father's disappearance was, it still wasn't as big a deal as the fact that I'd been dating a psychopath in disguise for the past several months.

"Okay," Peter murmured as he held me. "Okay. We'll deal with this. We'll find your dad, and then we can decide what to do next. It'll be all right." He pressed a kiss to my head and whispered, "I'll take care of you."

The sentiment and the gesture combined gave me pause. I lifted my head to look at him, and his gaze was warm on my face.

"I'll always take care of you," he said fervently, before bowing his head and kissing me. It was weird—he actually wasn't bad, but it seemed so incredibly surreal that Peter would do this. It made my skin crawl. He was my uncle, for God's sake. I was so confused that it took me a second to realize what was happening and push him away.

"What are you doing?" I asked, upset.

Consternation flitted across his features. "I'm sorry. I should have understood that it's not really a good time."

"A good time for what, exactly?"

"Claire…you know I care about you. I love you." Peter's face was so honest and innocent; it was almost touching. But love? It didn't sound like the appropriate familial kind of feeling that he was talking about. I chose my next words as delicately as I could.

"I love you too, Peter. Of course I do—we're family. What are you saying?" I guess he didn't appreciate my tone, because he got a little indignant.

"Claire, you know I feel more than that. We didn't even find out we were related until a few years ago."

"I'm your brother's daughter. How does that not matter to you?"

He reached for me then, trying to placate me or control me—I didn't really know which. "You and I would be perfect, though. We save each other. We both understand what it's like to be manipulated and used by the people we love." I stared in disbelief as he went on, "Can you blame me? I've watched you grow into this amazing woman…you're so beautiful, Claire."

"Don't touch me!" I scooted away from him and stood up. "I have always looked up to you, Peter, but this is not okay. I am your niece, and not at all attracted to you in that way."

He stood and said, "I didn't mean to push this. But you should maybe give it some thought."

"Definitely no, Peter. Sorry."

His eyes flashed then and I realized I had hurt his pride. "I guess you're more into villains these days anyway, right?" 

I slapped him and turned away, swiping my tears away angrily. "Claire, wait!"

I turned as he approached, remorse in his eyes. "I didn't mean that, it was an awful thing to say. I'm really sorry."

"I'm sorry I bothered you, Peter," I replied coolly. "But I have to go now."

I hailed another cab and left him standing there alone. I needed to find my dad, and the only way I could do that was if I had the compass to lead me to Samuel's carnival. The taxi drove me back to my dad's apartment. It amazed me that all this had taken place in a matter of hours. It felt like days.

I walked up the stairs and let myself in. The living room was still a mess, but the bodies were gone and the blood had been cleaned up. The door to my bedroom was open, our bags still on the floor.

"Oh Michael," I whispered as I blinked away tears. I rifled through the desk until I found the compass, tucking it into my pocket. Then I moved to my dad's room and found a handgun under his mattress. It would probably come in handy.

Footsteps echoed quietly in the living room, and I froze. Someone was here, and moving quickly. Without a second thought I threw myself at the window, falling the long way down to the pavement. I picked myself up as soon as I could, moving through the alley and crossing to the next street.

Who was I kidding, walking around with only a gun and a compass? There was no way I could get my dad back by myself. I thought of everything he had ever done to protect me, what he had sacrificed for my sake, and gritted my teeth. It was my turn to help him, even if I hated the means to that end. With that in mind, I dialed the number I knew by heart and waited for him to pick up.

"Sylar?"

Silence on his end of the line. To be honest, I was surprised he'd answered the phone. I cleared my throat and said the thing I never wanted to, never thought I'd have to.

"Sylar…I need your help."

* * *

**A/N: Hi everyone. So. Because the universe sucks hard-core, Chuck and I are at the tail end of the worst week in history. You may not know this, but the two of us are close friends, not family. And still, we have each experienced a loss in our seperate families this week. Death is always hard to deal with, and this week with all the crazy awful things going on, its doubly hard. So please forgive us for not being in the mood to write. It will probably be a while before our next posts, and we hope the wait isn't too excruciating. We will miss you while we're away, and will make every effort to come back to you soon. **

**-Mel and Chuck**

**--Mel and Chuck**


	16. Of Waitresses and Water

**Chapter Sixteen: Of Waitresses and Water**

I watched her arrive at the little diner, her face tearstained and eyes red. There was blood on her shirt and neck. I wondered what she'd done to herself.

She chose a booth near the back, as far away from the counter and the other patrons as was possible. It didn't look like she wanted to be over-heard. I stayed where I was, two tables away from her in the body of a middle-aged balding man. I thought it would be kinder not so show my face at that point, and I wasn't about to transform back into Michael.

A waitress in an uncomfortable looking red striped uniform took her order. A tall glass of ice-water with a twist of lemon, yes that's all, no I wouldn't like a slice of pie.

I watched, amused as the waitress walked off huffily to retrieve the water. Claire took out her cell-phone and opened it, checking for messages. She was getting nervous.

I slid into the booth across from her.

"Claire," I said, keeping my voice low. She jumped.

"M—Sylar?"

I nodded. "I thought it might be easier for you if I weren't… myself."

She stiffened. "Because that worked so well the last time," she muttered. Her hands clenched around the napkin in her lap.

I kept my gaze blank. It was odd how painful this was, her aversion and my remorse. How typical of my life this was. I changed my very DNA to make her more comfortable and it only resulted in hatred. Not that I didn't deserve it.

So I switched back after checking to make sure no one was watching. Her mouth dropped open and she got this panicked look on her face as I changed.

"What's with the blood?" I asked to distract her. She tore her terrified gaze from my face and peered down at herself.

"Window," she answered. The waitress arrived then, a small cup of water with no ice and no lemon in her hand. Claire pulled a face but said nothing.

"Would you like anything?" the woman said to me, pulling out her pad of paper and sticking out her breasts. I sneered.

"A sizeable glass of ice water with a lemon on the side," I demanded, "And some napkins. The table is sticking."

Eyes wide, the waitress stomped away. Her peroxide blonde hair didn't move as she walked. There must have been a can of hairspray in it.

"I need your help," Claire said once the other woman was out of earshot.

"Yes, you said so over the phone," I said. Claire made a face.

"I wouldn't ask… I just…" she let her voice trail off.

"Your father is missing," I supplied. She nodded. "So why not go to Peter? He's your knight and shining armor isn't he?" My voice sounded bitter even to me.

Across the table, Claire stiffened. "He wasn't available," she said. I decided to let the lie go. It was obvious she didn't want to talk about it.

"Claire," I said, voice soft. She froze.

"Don't do that," she said, meeting my gaze and hardening her eyes.

"Don't do what?" I asked, confused.

"Say my name like him."

I knew who she meant.

"Maybe he said your name like me," I supplied. Claire just shook her head.

"Then don't say my name at all."

"You're being unreasonable."

Her eyes flashed. "You killed Nathan," she hissed. The accusation in her voice stung. So did the truth.

The waitress brought me a real glass, just how I'd ordered it. I pushed it across the table to Claire who refused to look at it.

"I did," I said, there wasn't really any way to deny it. "But a lot has changed since then."

"Maybe for you."

Silence as she finished her water and continued to ignore mine. And then because I couldn't help it, I said her name again. "Claire, I wasn't lying in the bedroom." I knew she knew what I meant. She laughed anyway.

"Of course not," she said scathingly. "Because forgetting to mention you're the man who killed my biological father and cut open my head doesn't count as lying."

I clenched my fists beneath the table, frustrated. "Would you have given me a chance if I'd been me?"

She shook her head. "Hell no. And you should have respected that."

I growled and she flinched. It was like a bullet to the gut. "If I were going to hurt you, don't you think I would have done it sometime during the last three months?" I asked, keeping my voice low.

"I'm not sure," she said, jaw taut, "maybe you like to play with your food before you eat it." I scoffed and stared out the window to my right. The sidewalk was busy, so many different people walking by unaware of what was going on just a few feet from them. My world was falling to pieces and they were just in transit.

"Neither of us came here to fix anything," I said just loud enough to be heard. "There's nothing I can say at this point to change your mind about me. Even if I tell you that you know who I really am and that I still love you—well. I think I'm mature enough to recognize a lost cause."

Claire sat still on the other side of the table, hands folded in her lap, refusing to look anywhere in particular.

"I still don't like Jane Eyre, I still enjoy architecture, and I still believe in God—"

She cut me off.

"Don't. I only called because I need to find my dad. Samuel took him... and I can't get him on my own." She took a gasping breath. She was near tears again. "I don't have anything I can really give you," she said, "but I think we both know you owe me… and if you've changed at all… if what you're saying is true…"

"I'll help you," I said. She was worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. I remembered doing it for her just a few hours past. "I'm the man you know, Claire. I just have a different name." She refused to acknowledge my declaration nodding instead and clearing her throat.

"When can we go?" she wanted to know, composing herself, "I have a compass that will take us to Samuel's camp. I heard the man say that's who he was working for before—" she didn't finish the sentence and I let the rest go unsaid.

"We need time to plan," I answered.

"But what about my dad? They might hurt him or—"

"They won't hurt him. They took him for leverage, and a corpse doesn't motivate many people." I cringed at my own lack of tact. "They're counting on you running rough-shod after him," I continued, "So we need to be careful. I've met Samuel and his crew… the last thing we want is to be unprepared."

Her eyes widened. "How do you know them?"

I smiled, "they're the reason I came to you," I said simply.

She shivered and then spoke. "All the more reason to get my father out of there," she said. But I understood what she meant. _All the more reason to send a serial killer after them. _

I finished the glass of water myself and left a dollar on the table. Claire followed me out of the diner and towards my apartment without saying another word.

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**A/N: We are back. Thank you so much for the outpouring of support and patience you have shown. **

**--Mel and Chuck**


	17. Of Powers and Plans

**Chapter Seventeen: Of Powers and Plans**

I shouldn't have agreed to help her, but that's what you do for someone you love. Even if that someone doesn't love you back.

I unlocked the door and ushered Claire inside.

"I have to go to the bathroom," she murmured without looking at me.

"You know where it is," I said casually. She winced as the door slammed and then closed herself off in the bathroom. I could hear her struggling not to cry. God damn it. I hung up my jacket and sat at the tiny Formica table to wait for her to gain control. She actually didn't take all that long.

"Okay, let's do this quickly and find my dad," she said. She still wasn't looking at me, choosing instead to focus on the water spots on the table.

"It's not that simple, Cl—" I cut myself off before I could break her no-name rule. "Samuel has a lot of people with him, and you and I are not going to rescue your dad without some serious forethought and preparation."

"Okay, you keep saying that, but you have yet to actually say anything helpful or concrete," she snapped, hitting the table with her palms. "How about you offer something constructive instead of just telling me that I'm not doing it right?" Her words reminded me of the frustration she suffered in calculus as I taught her over and over how to do her homework. I took a deep breath and tried to remember my patience.

"I need more powers," I said calmly. "I don't have enough right now, and it would be nice to get a few more if we're planning on going in guns blazing."

Her face blanched and she pushed away from the table. "You're warning me before you go slicing heads open? And you think I'll be okay with it? What the hell is wrong with you?" Her voice was full of horror and disgust, and it hurt a lot more than I thought it would.

"Sit down, please." I kept my voice low. "I learned how to take abilities without killing people. But you should know that it will take longer than the usual way, and it's not something that I've had a lot of practice at."

She dropped back to her chair in surprise, pursing her lips as she thought. "Okay, and what about me?"

I snorted. "What _about_ you? The whole point of this conversation is because you can't do this by yourself."

"Yeah, but I could help you, if that helps my dad. How does the non-violent learning work?"

"I need to touch them so I can feel what they feel. Then I can understand what they want or need and after that…" I shrugged, "I can do what they do."

Claire leaned forward, intent on my words. Her eyes were wide and fascinated. "How did you learn how to do this?"

"I first learned it with Elle, but didn't really use it until Lydia reminded me it was done. I think she said you two had met?" She nodded and I went on, "She attempted to…manipulate me, and shared her gift with me by accident."

To my astonishment I found myself avoiding her gaze, feeling slightly ashamed of myself. Not that I had any reason to—it wasn't as though I'd done anything wrong. But to my even greater surprise, Claire saw through my evasiveness as easily as if I had been wearing her boyfriend's face. It unnerved and confused me.

"Did you _sleep_ with her to get her power?" she asked incredulously.

I felt myself _blushing_, for God's sake. "No," I said, "I did not. But would it bother you if I had, Claire?"

"Absolutely not. The idea disgusts me, that's all," she replied coolly, and I felt her lie crawl across my skin. "I just wouldn't think you were above that kind of immorality."

That stung, but after everything she had been through today, I wasn't going to call her on it. It's not like I didn't deserve every insult she had. I shook it off and decided to move to a safer topic.

"Let's think of the kind of things I'll need if we want to pull this off successfully," I said, waving a pencil and paper over to rest in front of me. Perhaps Claire was feeling a little extraneous, because she grabbed them away from me.

"Start by making a list of what you already have," she instructed. "It's more organized that way."

"How about just the relevant ones? Some of them aren't really going to be helpful on this mission."

"Like what?"

"Alchemy, for one."

"Yeah, fine." I sat back in my chair and started thinking.

"Okay, telekinesis, empathy, sound manipulation, electricity, flight, disintegration, lie detection—"

"Wait, what?" Her face was horrified. "You can tell if someone's lying?"

I couldn't suppress the grin. "Yeah. Fair warning."

She returned her attention to the paper, muttering, "Now you tell me."

I continued on. "Healing, clairsentience—"

She stopped me again, "What does that mean?"

Oh, she was going to love this. "I can touch an object and see its history—who's touched it, when, how, and so on."

She turned bright red, but said only, "You forgot shape-shifting."

I replied quietly, "I didn't forget, Claire."

We sat in silence for a while before she cleared her throat and got back to business. "So what is it you want?"

Mind-reading, for one—lucky we knew where Matt Parkman was. Radioactivity would be nice, though I assumed that one would be rarer. Pyrokinesis was also pretty high on my list.

She scribbled those down and it occurred to me to wonder, "What's Peter got these days?"

"He's fast. He got from New York to Arlington in a matter of minutes."

"I wonder if I could convince him to tell me where he got it," I mused with interest. Not that I really liked the idea of going to Peter for an ability, but it might be worth it.

"No," Claire said succinctly. "We're not bringing Peter into this."

Her attitude toward her personal hero was intriguing. Was she protecting him or worried about bothering him?

"Why not?" I asked with interest. "He's your uncle; he should be glad to help you."

"I'm not answering that," she said, "Not after what you just told me."

Something inside of me had to know what she was hiding, and I pushed her on it. "What's the problem? Are you worried he won't approve of your choice of help?"

"It's none of your goddamned business," she burst out. "I don't want to talk about Peter anymore, so just let it go. And he's in no position to judge me anyway."

I raised an eyebrow and stored the information away for later. Claire was genuinely upset, and I could always wait until we paid a visit to Parkman before finding out why.

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**A/N: Dun dun dun... Reviews are appreciated and internalized. :) **

**--Mel and Chuck**


	18. Of Empathy and Thoughts

**Chapter Eighteen: Of Empathy and Thoughts**

"This doesn't mean I forgive you." Claire's voice was emotionless from the window seat of the Boeing. I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye. "Or that I ever will." The words had come out of a long silence, but I couldn't say they didn't have credence.

"I didn't expect your forgiveness," I said in response, looking back down at the text-book in my lap. I'd been focusing on the human anatomy for the last two hours of our flight, and I had memorized pretty much the whole thing by that point. I was a quick learner.

Claire turned to look at me, clearly irritated. "What are you still doing reading that thing anyway?" she wanted to know, "you're not him anymore." I tilted my head to the side.

"Maybe I don't look like him, but I still enjoy the class and learning. It's fascinating," she huffed, folding her arms beneath her breasts and staring back out the window. I couldn't help but let my gaze linger on her chest for a moment as she looked away. It was a habit I hadn't had to hide previously, and one I certainly enjoyed. "You seem to have forgotten that changing faces doesn't change minds, Claire," I said softly, looking back at my book, "And I know you're not so shallow as to have 'cared about' Michael for his face alone."

She paled as her head whipped around to face me. "Don't you dare throw that in my face," she hissed. I raised an eye brow, but nodded, conceding. "You, of all people don't get to use that against me, so just shut the hell up." She was so mad she was shaking, and before I had a chance to say anything back, she had unbuckled her seat-belt and was pushing her way past me. "I'm going to be sick," she muttered before dashing towards the bathrooms.

I took a deep breath and let my head fall back against the head-rest.

So this was what regret felt like, being unable to change a decision you sorely wish could. If I'd never approached her as Michael, if I'd shown her myself from the beginning, none of this would have happened. I wouldn't have fallen in love with a petulant eighteen year old and been in no position to do anything about it. I sighed. But if I had approached her myself I would have gotten nowhere. Not that I got very far as Michel… I smirked. Well, not in the sense I meant it. I hadn't learned any earth shattering things, only that I was still capable of caring for someone other than myself, and that people were capable of caring for me.

Claire took her seat and I watched her out of the corner of my eye. She was definitely beautiful. Beautiful and strong and smart and angry.

"Stop watching me," she said, still staring out of the darkened window.

"Why does it bother you?"

"I just don't like it."

I closed the book in my lap and stared at my hands instead. The hands of a killer and a psychopath.

The plane landed in LA around mid-night. We spent the rest of the night there in the airport because Claire refused to bust in on Parkman's sleeping family. She fell asleep on the bench next to me around three and didn't wake up until seven. It took us a little while to find his address, and once we had we took a cab there. It was nine by the time we arrived.

"Remember the plan," I told her as she headed towards the porch and I moved to go through the back. She nodded, jaw clenched tight. "And try not to look so obvious," I hissed as I rounded the house. I stopped there to listen.

Claire knocked. A minute or so later, the door opened.

"Claire?" Matt Parkman's voice.

"Matt. I need…" Her voice wavered. She sounded like she was about to cry. "I need your help."

"What's the matter?"

"I can't talk about it here… can I come in?"

Both of their voices disappeared into the house, so I rounded the corners until I was at the back door, slipping through the sliding glass and watching the scene unfold from the shadows, waiting for just the right moment.

Claire was sitting on his couch, looking visibly shaken and near tears. I wondered how much of it was real emotion spilling over and how much as acting.

"It's my dad," she said, eyeing the baby in his bouncing chair next to the couch, "He's been… I mean—" and she burst into noisy and convincing tears.

Matt Parkman looked at a loss for words. "Let me get you a tissue," he said, turning his back for a moment to grab one. And that's when it happened.

Claire lunged for the baby, picking him up and holding him tight, one hand on his chin and his little back pressed to her front as he began to wail. She looked frantic, desperate. Parkman whirled around eyes wide, rushing forward to take the baby from her. And I stepped out of the shadows, freezing him in place with a thought and taking control of Claire's body. She tensed at the feeling, remembering no doubt our time spent together just before I killed Nathan.

I tried not to think about it, instead, focusing on Parkman.

"Hello, Matthew," I said, hissing his name.

"Sylar," I could tell he was confused, angry and hurt. I kept him pressed against the wall with his arms splayed at his sides.

"You don't sound as thrilled to see me again as I thought you'd be," I said, stalking forward.

Behind me Claire spoke. "Get it over with," she urged.

Matt's eyes widened. "You're… you're working with him?" he sounded unsure, pissed, betrayed.

"Please, Matt," Claire said, "We're not going to hurt you. You just have to help us. My dad—"

"Shut up!" he yelled, trying to break free from where I held him, "You have no idea what you've done!"

Claire closed her eyes. For a moment I thought she would cry, but when she opened them again all I saw was a solid resolve.

"Make him be quiet," she said to me, so I did. "Listen to me Matt," she said very softly. I let her walk towards him until she was just a few feet away, the baby still squirming uncomfortably in her arms. She had covered his mouth to keep him quiet. "No one here has to get hurt," she said as I took control of her again. This was part of the plan, I had to have control to make it real. I had to be menacing. "I don't want to hurt your baby, and I don't want to hurt you. Neither does Sylar," Parkman's eyes widened in clear disbelief, "But my dad needs my help, and I need Sylar… so we're going to have to take your power."

Parkman started struggling again, and I walked Claire backwards, towards the door. I could see him, trying to concentrate and find his way into Claire's mind. I slammed his head against the wall behind him to make him lose focus. "None of that," I ordered, "Do it again and I may just have to retrieve this ability of yours the old fashioned way."

Claire tried to speak behind me, but with a quick thought I prevented it. Even though we'd gone over the plan and I'd warned her of the part I would be playing, the part of the villain, I think she still believed I would hurt the fat cop if given a chance. It wouldn't do to have her speaking and ruining things.

Against the wall, Parkman struggled, trying a few more times to break into mine or Claire's thoughts before finally becoming too dizzy to try after having his skull knocked against the wall repeatedly. "Please," he whispered finally, "don't hurt my son… please." He sounded pathetic, but I could understand the sentiment, the fear and the panic that the one you love will be ripped from you. I'd felt it in Noah Bennet's apartment right before I'd killed Samuel's thug.

"Shhh… I won't," I soothed, taking a step closer to Parkman so that I could touch the side of his face with my open palm. I cradled his cheek there, trying to get a feel for him, to understand him the way I had Lydia. "But if you do something stupid, I'll have no choice but to make our darling Claire snap poor junior's neck." Beneath my palm, Parkman began to tremble.

"What do you want?" he whispered. He still looked dizzy.

"I want to understand you, Parkman," I said, "That's all."

And then I did, perfectly. He wanted what so many before him had. Normalcy, a wife and a family. Children to call his own and a steady job. But deeper than that, more essentially, he wanted to be needed, wanted to be powerful. He liked the feeling and the rush that came when he controlled the minds of others, but he hated himself for it. He had clear ideas of right and wrong, and they all contradicted what he really wanted.

"I know you," I said softly as it came to me in a rush. "One would think being trapped in your mind for so long would have done the trick, but that was nothing compared to this. You're so… troubled."

"What the fu—"

"Shhh…" I placed a finger over his lips. "I get it, I really do. The ability make you feel like you have some say in your life, but only when you use it, and using it is the wrong thing to do. You're trapped by your own DNA, by the fact that you can read minds and force thoughts into your neighbors head. I know all about it."

Parkman looked up at me, his eyes focusing finally as he met my gaze. And then he pushed hard with his mind, trying to over-whelm me… and everything was wrong. I shouldn't have been holding him there against the wall. I had to let him go, because that was what I was supposed to be doing. I was supposed to be letting Claire drop Mattie and leaving, leaving and never coming back.

The baby shrieked across the room and my mind cleared instantly as Parkman ripped his gaze from mine and cried out loudly. I looked quickly over my shoulder. Claire was standing now, nails digging into the child's arms and pinching viciously to make him wail. When had that happened? I hadn't let her go… but I had. Parkman had told me to. I growled, turning back to face the man against the wall. The prick.

"What did I tell you about that, Parkman?" I hissed, banging his head against the wall so hard I was surprised he didn't pass out. He reeked of fear.

And that's when it clicked. It was so simple, as simple as snapping my fingers.

Snap. And they were yours.

Snap. And you could hear everything.

Snap. And you were powerful.

_Mattie, Jesus Christ, she's going to hurt him, the cheerleader is going to hurt him. I'll kill her, I'll kill her and then I'll kill Sylar. Fuck. Mattie. Jesus._

Parkman's thoughts were frantic, chaotic. I laughed, exhilarated as I let him drop to the floor in a heap.

"Put the kid down, Claire," I said, "I've got it."

She set the baby down on the floor so quickly I barely caught her movements. She looked nauseas, like the baby had been on fire in her arms and seeping poison into her veins.

Parkman rushed then, yelling and angry towards Claire. I knocked him off on his ass with a wave of my hand, gabbing Claire by the arm and pulling her close.

"Later, Parkman," I said, and then we were jetting out of the house and into the sky, rocketing so quickly into the atmosphere that no one would see us.

Claire shook against me, wrapping her arms tight around my torso and closing her eyes as we flew. I let myself imagine for a moment that it was because she wanted me.

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**A/N: Dun dun dun... Reviews are appreciated and internalized. :) **

**--Mel and Chuck**


	19. Of Gold and Flights

**Chapter Nineteen: Of Gold and Flights**

I didn't realize how hard I'd been holding on to Sylar until we got back to the ground and I released him, my arms sore. It had shaken me more than I'd thought it would. I could still hear Matt's baby crying in my head and I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block the memory. When I opened them, though, I didn't recognize where we were.

"We're at LAX, Claire," Sylar answered my unspoken question with a tad of exasperation. "It's not like we went far."

I took a few steps back, trying to put some distance between us. "Where are we going?"

"India," he said shortly before moving toward the airport's entrance.

"Wait," I called. It took me a few seconds to catch up to him; his legs were way longer than mine, and he was walking really fast. "Why?"

He didn't stop, making a beeline for the nearest ticket counter. "We need two tickets on the soonest flight to Madras."

"First class or coach, sir?" asked the man behind the counter. He was kind of chubby, but his voice was kind.

"Doesn't matter." Sylar looked down at me for a second before making a decision, "Coach is fine."

The ticket man typed in a few things on his computer, squinting at the screen. "Okay, we've got you two seats on the eight-twenty flight into Chennai International. It's no stops, and $3921 total."

Holy shit. "How can you afford that?" I whispered as he handed over his card.

He glared, but didn't bother saying anything until we walked out of hearing. "Alchemy has its uses, Claire. I've been moving gold off on different stores for the past several months."

"It's so expensive, though," I murmured. I couldn't understand what was so important that we had to fly off to India right away.

"Well, it was that or fly ourselves," he said with irritation. "And somehow I thought you wouldn't appreciate spending that many hours trapped in my arms." I shuddered at the thought; if he wanted to spend money on a plane ride that was fine by me.

We walked through security and sat in the uncomfortable chairs. It wasn't long before it occurred to me to ask, "Now what?"

"Now we wait. We've got a while before they're going to let us start boarding."

I snorted. I'd like to know in what universe ten hours of waiting time equals 'a while'. Absolutely ridiculous.

"If you're bored, go to sleep," he said simply. "It isn't as though you've had much of that in the past couple of days."

"I'm not tired," I replied shortly, just before a huge yawn almost split my face in two.

He laughed then, throwing his head back, and it changed his whole demeanor—almost like a physical weight had been lifted from him. "Okay, Claire. You can ignore your body's signals that you need rest, or you can listen to them, and pass some of the time by sleeping."

His eyes bored into mine, and I found my eyelids drooping. "Just rest, Claire."

When I woke up he was gone. I sat upright, rolling my neck and looking for a clock. When I couldn't find one, I remembered that my watch, the one I'd gotten for Christmas, was still on my wrist. Why hadn't I taken it off, now that I knew who the true giver was?

"It's almost two o'clock," Sylar told me as he sat down. He held two bottles of water in his hands, one of which he handed to me. I took a swallow before realizing something.

"You got inside my head and put me to sleep," I accused, "and you've been answering things that I haven't said out loud."

He looked totally unrepentant. "Yep."

"You asshole," I hissed as I grabbed my bag and made to get up. "I hate you."

His face fell abruptly, and I almost felt sorry for him. 'Almost' wasn't enough, though, to keep me from stalking away. To his credit, he left me alone until a little after six.

"I'm going to eat," he informed me. "They're probably going to have us start boarding in an hour or so, maybe less, and there's no meal on the flight."

I stared back up at Sylar as he stood over me. "Great, have fun."

He sighed and grabbed my hand, pulling me to my feet before leading me in the direction of the food court. "I'm going to feed you," he told me over his shoulder. It wasn't until we got to the restaurant and sat down that I remembered to yank my hand out of his.

"Don't touch me, please," I said frostily. His face blushed with shame and he withdrew his hand, but halfway through the motion he changed his mind.

"If this is going to work out, I need to say something to you," he said quietly. His tone sent a tiny chill through me as his hand took hold of my wrist and turned my palm upward. His eyes watched me intently, and I suddenly felt as though he had zeroed in on me, like maybe he couldn't see anything or anyone else.

"I did a wrong to you," he continued. "I know that, and accept it, and I'm very sorry. If I could figure out a way to correct it, I would. But hypothetical solutions aren't going to do us any good.

"You asked for my help to find your father and get him back. You could have gone to someone else, or I could have said no. But you didn't, and I didn't, and that means that you need me. So I would appreciate a little courtesy on your part, if you don't mind. You can hate me all you want," he paused to swallow, "but keep your eye on the goal. Noah is depending on you."

I looked down as he spoke, watching the fingers of his hand tap against the inside of my wrist, holding me in a gentle but very firm grip.

"Okay," I replied softly. Gratification passed over his features just as our food was served, and I was reminded of Michael. Sylar's facial expressions were identical to my lost boyfriend's, and it made my eyes prickle behind their lids.

The rest of our dinner passed in relative silence. It wasn't until we were seated on the plane that I thought to ask, "Sylar? Why are we going to India?"

"Molly Walker is there," he answered. "Mohinder wanted to send her somewhere safe. Where better than with his own mother?"

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**A/N: Dun dun dun... Reviews are appreciated and internalized. :) **

**--Mel and Chuck**


	20. Of You and I

**Chapter Twenty: Of You and I**

India wasn't as much of a mess as it could have been. There was zero blood-shed, but I had to screw with the minds of about a dozen armed cops, as well as mama Suresh and little Miss. Walker herself. In the end though, we got what we were after and were able to slip quietly out of the country and back to the states. Our lack of pass-ports went completely unnoticed by airport security—thank you Matt Parkman—and we found ourselves back in DC at Bennet's apartment before a full two days had passed.

Claire's sat at the kitchen table, a bowl of ice-cream in front of her, as I did some work on her father's laptop. I was in the middle of reading Samuel's file when Claire unintentionally caught my attention.

It wasn't her fault. She didn't know she was doing it—but I sure noticed.

The spoon rose up, vanilla ice-cream nestled atop it. Her tongue darted out to lick the under-side and catch stray drops of the melting treat; it was pink and quick, stroking the metal. And then her lips parted and her eyes fluttered shut as she put the spoon in her mouth, sealing her mouth over it and exhaling.

She let the spoon sit there for a while, the vanilla melting and diffusing in her mouth before she sucked slowly, making sure to clean every last drop of ice cream from the spoon as she drew it out slowly from between closed lips.

I shivered. She repeated the process.

I thanked God she was too busy eating to notice that I had stopped reading and was following the rise and fall of that spoon with my dark eyes.

Four spoon-full's later, and I had to force myself to leave the table.

"Where are you going?" she asked from behind me. I didn't pause as I headed out of the room. I didn't want to risk turning around and having her see, quite vividly, what the issue was.

"Bathroom," I muttered instead, walking straight through the living room to the apartments little restroom. Everything in the room was tile. The floor, the walls, the counter. An even, bland cream color that was undecorated by so much as a brightly colored rug. It was so Noah Bennet.

I sat on the edge of the tub, willing myself to be calm and staring down at the only part of my anatomy I'd never really learned how to control.

"Son of a bitch," I murmured, shaking my head and trying to get the image of Claire and her ice-cream out of my head. It wasn't as if I had any right to be that turned on by her; only Michael had had that right, and we had already established that he could no longer exist.

The voice in the back of my head told me what a load of crap that was.

It hadn't been Michael she was stroking to a quick climax when Samuel's goon had ruined everything. I was the only one with that memory, the only person whose skin remembered the feel of her cool hands on heated flesh.

I shivered. This was not the train of thought I should be having if I wanted to get rid of an uncalled for erection without completely disgracing myself in her father's apartment. Still… I'd seen the expression on her face when she'd caught sight of her bedroom, seen the blush creep from her neck to her cheeks. It had taken all of my self-control not to listen in on her thoughts. But I had restrained myself, and I would now too.

A knock at the door startled me and I clambered up.

"Yes?" I asked, clearing my throat.

I could hear Claire breathing on the other side of the door. "Sylar," she said, voice tentative, "Are you decent?" I gulped, staring down at the tight spot in my jeans.

"Yeah," I said, grabbing a towel from the rack and spreading it over my lap as I sat back down on the tub, bending forward and doing my best to hide the very obvious—and annoyingly persistent—arousal between my thighs.

She cracked the door slowly, and the first thing I saw was her face. There was a worry line between her brows, and I couldn't help myself anymore. Her thoughts were too damned loud to ignore.

_Probably shouldn't be such a bitch—he's not trying to kill me—why am I even trying to talk—how should I ask if—_

"Is everything alright?" she wanted to know. I snapped my eyes to hers, not bothering to hide my confusion. If ever a girl's moods were unpredictable…

"I'm fine," I said, breaking eye contact and looking down at the tile floor.

"Then why did you leave? We're supposed to be looking for my dad, and every minute we're not working is another minute he might not have," she chided. I looked up, disbelieving. Was that really all she came here to say to me? I growled, standing up quickly and taking a quick step towards her. Her eyes widened as she caught sight of my jeans. Hell.

I could see the revulsion in her eyes and he fury building up in her thoughts. And behind it all, a touch of fear.

"That's disgusting," she said, turning quickly and slamming the door behind her.

And something inside of me snapped.

I crossed the room in one step, yanking the door open and striding forward until my hand was wrapped around her upper arm and I was spinning her around to face me. She looked disturbed and infuriated.

"What's disgusting, Claire?" I growled, forcing her to face me. Her eyes glanced down and then back up so quickly I almost missed it. She seemed to panic, yanking her arm and clawing at my hand.

"Let go of me," she hissed, "You have no right to touch me."

I scoffed, releasing her and walking her backwards until her spine hit the wall. "No right to touch you?" I said, "I have every right." Her eyes widened, but she didn't move, trapped between my towering body and the wall. Her gaze wandered over my shoulder slowly and I followed it to her closed bedroom door.

"It happened," I said roughly, one hand on her chin, making her look at me. "And I remember every fucking second of it. I can still feel your mouth on mine, and your hand stroking me…" She swallowed compulsively, "and it is anything but disgusting."

She slapped me, the blow stinging and echoing around me. My head swung to the side and then back to face her.

"That wasn't _for _you," she hissed, glaring up at me.

I laughed mockingly. "Of course it was," I said, "Or do I need to remind you that I've always been the one?" I let myself melt away and left Michael standing in my place, Claire stared, horrified.

"It's me," I said harshly, inching closer to her until she could feel my stiff length pressed to her taut belly. "I've been here all along. I've talked with you, laughed with you. I've kissed you—" and I couldn't help myself, I let my lips graze the corner of her mouth, "I've spent the night with you breathing next to me… and I've loved you."

I took a step back, forcing away Michael's face and becoming myself again. She watched the whole time.

"And there was nothing disgusting about it. My face was a lie, Claire," I said, voice barely audible by then, "But I wasn't."

She didn't say anything, didn't move a muscle. I don't think she even breathed. I watched her for almost a minute, making her meet my gaze, forcing her to look at me… and then I turned, leaving so quickly that I barely registered the sound of the slamming door behind me.

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**A/N: Yay! How do I express how happy this chapter made us? Gabriel is FINALLY forcing her to face the incident in the bedroom. Yummy... Reviews are appreciated and internalized. :) **

**--Mel and Chuck**


	21. Of Past Tense and Present Tense

**Chapter Twenty One: Of Past Tense and Present Tense**

"Get out!" I screamed long after the door had slammed behind him. I kicked the wall and cursed a long string of words that my parents would not approve of.

"That asshole," I growled as I slammed my bowl and spoon into the sink. Seeing Michael's face again had shaken me deeply and given me a surprising thrill. I missed him—not his face as much as the way he looked at me and the way he would listen to every word I said. The way he made me feel loved and safe.

What Sylar had said about loving me. It wasn't the first time he had said that his feelings for me were real. But I didn't really know if I could believe that—after all, he'd killed so many people, my own parents included. He'd held me down, cut open my head, and poked around my brain to get my power.

But since meeting Michael…well, he'd never once tried to hurt me or anyone I cared about. I didn't really know how to process all of this. Any of it.

"I need to call him," I muttered to myself, pulling my cell phone out of my pocket. I wasn't saying that I thought what he did was okay, but I needed him back. My dad was still gone, and Sylar's temper tantrum wasn't very productive. He didn't answer the phone, though.

"Hi, this is Michael. Leave me a message and I'll get back to you." I swallowed hard at Michael's voice and started talking after the tone.

"Mi—Sylar. Please come back. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings, but you were being such an ass. I mean…that's not what I meant. Just. You…surprised me. Whatever, please just come back. I—I'm sorry, I guess."

I hung up the phone feeling stupid and confused. "Whatever. I'm not dealing with this right now."

I went to my bedroom and dressed for bed. I tried not to think too hard about the last time I'd been on this bed. I didn't want to be here in the first place, but Sylar had insisted that he needed the files on my dad's laptop, and now that he had run out, I didn't have much choice but to sleep here tonight. I crawled into bed reluctantly, trying to relax and put Sylar out of my head.

"I love you too, Claire," echoed in my head as I recalled the intensity of his gaze, and my hand on him. As much as I tried to ignore it, what I'd seen today in the bathroom…Sylar was clearly bigger than Michael.

"God damn it," I groaned, rolling out of bed and grabbing my pillow and blanket. Maybe I just needed a different place to sleep. Somewhere I hadn't jerked off my boyfriend before my dad had been kidnapped. God.

I tossed and turned on the couch, pulling the covers up to my chin. Every time I closed my eyes I could see Sylar standing in front of me, turning into Michael and kissing me. As if that wasn't bad enough, I couldn't honestly say that the experience was entirely…disgusting. It was actually kind of sexy, in a really freaky taboo kind of way.

I guess I'd been lying there for at least an hour in the dark thinking about this stuff when the front door opened. He flicked the light on and I hid my face.

"Turn off the light," I complained. He complied.

"What are you doing?" he asked quietly. I sat up, pulling my knees up and drawing the covers around me.

"I couldn't sleep in there," I murmured as he pulled a chair over and sat down.

"Too disgusting?" Sylar suggested. There was only the barest edge of bitterness in his voice. It ended up sounding more sad than angry. It looked like he'd gotten over his fury pretty quickly.

"No. Just, um…kind of distracting. Just, we…" I trailed off. This is so awkward.

"Kind of awkward for you," he echoed. There was a long pause as we sat together in the dark.

"I didn't mean to hurt your feelings," I repeated. "It was just…shocking, I guess."

He chuckled. "I take it back. This is awkward for both of us." Another long pause before he said, "I'm sorry I invaded your space tonight. It was inappropriate."

"Actually," I said, surprising myself, "you had a point. I, um…I liked Michael a lot."

Sylar smiled ruefully. "He liked you too."

My eyes readjusted to the lack of light, and I looked at him for a long time. Long enough that I started getting sleepy.

"You could just let your eyes close," he said. "You're tired."

I did, for a little while. I sort of floated in and out. It was probably a few hours later that I opened my eyes again. He was still sitting there, watching me.

"Sylar?"

"Yeah, Claire."

"I miss him."

He waited a long time before responding. "I know you do. I'm sorry."

I was fuzzy and still tired, so maybe I said more than I would have otherwise. "You said you love me."

He spoke again, sounding tired and unhappy, "Yes, I said that."

"I loved him too. And you—if what you've been saying is real—you are him. So I guess that means—" I yawned involuntarily "—I guess that means I loved you."

When he finally answered me, his voice was strained. " 'Loved', Claire?"

"Yeah. But you have to like yourself. You're just as attractive as he is, you know. Actually probably more so."

"Thanks," he said wryly. "I'm glad I'm no longer disgusting."

I yawned again, rubbing my face in an attempt to wake up. It didn't work. "You never really were. But you have to admit that finding you in my bathroom with an enormous hard-on was just a little much for me to confront."

I could hear his embarrassment in his next words. "I am really sorry about that. Maybe next time you could warn me if you're going to eat ice cream at the table."

I laughed before slumping back and letting my eyelids flutter down. "I'll try to keep that in mind."

"Claire? What did you dream about, when you lied to Michael and told him he changed?"

I was startled that he remembered that conversation at all. "We were in lecture, but we were alone. And then you…Michael, I mean…um, we were…"

"I get it," he interrupted. "Never mind."

"He turned into you, though," I whispered. "His face changed into yours, and it was you with me. Almost like my subconscious was trying to warn me." We were quiet for a long time after that. I can only imagine what was running through his head.

"Go back to sleep, Claire. We can get back to work in the morning." I fell asleep then, and dreamed of Michael and Sylar, and trying to find a compromise between the two of them.

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**A/N: Yummy... Hope you enjoyed. Reviews are appreciated and internalized. :) **

**--Mel and Chuck**


	22. Of Words and Names

**Chapter Twenty Two: Of Words and Names**

I couldn't stop thinking after Claire went to sleep, and my thoughts were dashing around in circles. Not disgusting, loved (past tense), hard-on? Her use of the term had shocked me. It wasn't something she'd ever said before, and that she was comfortable enough to say it to me… the conversation had been so natural, so easy, just like every other conversation we'd had since I had found her. What did it all mean?

And loved (past tense), what the hell? She had loved Michael, loved _me _by her own admission. As recently as four days ago we had been _in_ love. And now? Did she thought she could turn her feelings off like a light-switch? I certainly couldn't.

A part of me told me how very wrong this was, how wary I should be. My feelings didn't absolve me completely. God knew I was in the wrong; not only had I lied to her, I was also much older than her. I was thirty-three, and she was eighteen. That was a fifteen year age gap. Granted, she was intelligent and mature for her age—and in another hundred years what was the difference going to matter?—but for now, I was practically old enough to be her father…and the fact that I found her so damned attractive disconcerted me on a deep seated level. The way her body moved, lithe and golden and womanly. She was going to be the cheer-leader from Odessa forever, the same curved hips and pert, mouthwatering breasts. God, I wished I'd had the chance to put my mouth on them before this had all happened. And even that wish disturbed me.

Still, none of that was going to be enough to keep me from her if she wanted me near. I was essentially a selfish being, always had been. Every ability I'd taken in the past, every person I'd murdered, had been the result of an intense, and self-centered desire to have what was not mine. And I wanted Claire, wanted her like she held the freaking key to eternity—which coincidentally, she did.

The only issue here was whether she wanted me or not. Right now, the answer was no, but once she'd come to terms with it all… once we'd rescued Noah… once I'd proven to her that I was no longer the killer, no longer the nightmare… anything might happen.

Claire had loved me. Gabriel Gray.

I looked over to watch her again, her slumbering form on the couch. Her mouth was slightly parted, her hair was a mess, and her mascara had smeared. She was lovely. Her left hand hung over the side of the couch, the watch I'd given her dangled on that delicate wrist, glinting gold in the darkened room. I was surprised she was still wearing it, surprised and pleased. A constant reminder of me hung against her skin, my mother's initials engraved in the gold, Claire's just below them. Something in my chest burned.

She woke up before I did the next morning, and when I slipped slowly into consciousness, the first thing I smelled was burnt toast. I wrinkled my nose, shifting in the recliner and trying to relieve the twinge in my neck. Sleeping sitting up didn't suit me, apparently.

"Sylar?" she asked tentatively from the doorway, "Are you awake?"

I growled. "No."

There was silence and then, "Breakfast is ready."

I opened my eyes and she was out of sight again. The living-room was dim, the curtains drawn and the light shut out. Trust Noah Bennett to have light killing curtains in his living room. He'd probably had to sleep on the couch in his old house enough for them to matter. I smiled at the thought. It served the bastard right. I didn't care if he was Claire's father, or if I'd promised myself I wouldn't kill him because he'd die long before I would anyway… He was still a son-of-a-bitch.

The kitchen, by contrast, was full of light. The blinds were open and the over-head light was on. The yellow paint on the walls only added to the effect and had me wincing.

Claire stood over the stove, moving sausage links around a frying pan with a spatula. They at least smelled edible.

I caught sight of the toast on a plate on the counter, two slices of blackened white bread and two slightly toasted pieced of wheat. "You want me to put some more toast in?" I asked.

She looked over her shoulder at me, frowned. "No, why?"

"These two are practically coal," I said, poking them.

She shook her head. "I like them," she said.

"You _like _burnt toast?" I asked, disbelieving.

Claire nodded. "Yeah, sue me."

I chose not to comment, grabbing the two pieces of wheat and putting them on a separate plate. There were scrambled eggs on the stove, which I helped myself too, and Claire served me four sausage links as soon as they were done. We ate in companionable silence.

All I could think of while we sat there was the conversation we'd had last night, and I couldn't help myself, I had to know what was on her mind.

_So awkward. Should have kept my mouth shut last night. I don't even know how I feel, and now I'm making him breakfast and telling him I freaking loved him. What does that even mean? Loved. Christ. How out of it was I last night? I wonder if he even remembers the conversation. He must have been tired too. Love. What is that anyway? Just because you love someone doesn't mean you have to be with them. I can love him and not want to be with him. Look at mom. He's a serial killer. A killer. Killed Nathan, Killed Meredith. Killed Jaquie. But he's not hurting me now is he? Not hurting anyone. Loved. I loved him and I… what? Love him now? _

I had to force myself to stop listening, because I had begun to stare right at her and she had noticed.

"What?" she wanted to know.

"Nothing," I muttered.

"Tell me, Sylar."

Sylar. Always Sylar. No wonder she was still equating me with the serial killer.

"Claire, can you not call me that?" I asked, voice low. I wasn't even sure she heard me until I looked up and saw the stunned expression on her face. Her mouth was slightly parted and her eyes were wide.

"What else am I supposed to call you?" she wanted to know.

I paused. What indeed. I wasn't Michael anymore, and I wasn't sure she'd want to call me by my given name—screw it.

"Call me Gabriel," I said, "Please."

She kept staring for a while, and because I thought she probably deserved at least a modicum of privacy, I decided against listening to her thought process.

Eventually, she nodded.

"Okay, Gabriel," she said, looking back down at her plate and taking another bite of burnt toast.

My name on her lips sounded like victory, and I grinned through the rest of breakfast.

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**A/N: :)... Hope you enjoyed. Reviews are appreciated and internalized. :) **

**--Mel and Chuck**


	23. Of Ink and Attacks

**Chapter Twenty Three: Of Ink and Attacks**

We were back at the table, pencil and paper in front of Claire again because she swore it would help us be organized, when her brow furrowed.

"What the hell is that?" she asked, eyes darting between my arm and my face. I lifted my arm to look at what had upset her, and sighed. It was amazing that she hadn't seen it yet, but then I did favor long sleeves. It just so happened that today I'd worn a tee-shirt.

"It's a tattoo," I said evenly.

"It's me," she corrected. "Why the hell do you have a tattoo of my face?" Her eyes had widened and her voice took on a vague tone of panic. This was kind of a setback.

"Um…" I trailed off. "I got drunk one night and thought it would be funny?"

She set her jaw and glared at me. "We can't get drunk. Tell me the truth."

I sighed again and answered as quickly as I could. "Remember Lydia? Samuel used the same ink she has on me and told me it would take the shape of my destiny, or my greatest desire or something like that. And…" I gestured needlessly at my skin, "There you are."

An awkward silence proceeded for a few seconds before she cleared her throat. "Let's keep going."

We'd been working on our attack plan for twenty minutes or so, and we weren't very far. It was disappointing, but she'd managed to keep her comments to herself.

"Okay," she said, tapping the end of the pencil on the tabletop. "Plan-time. What do we have right now?" Everything we had was in my head. I wasn't even sure why she had the paper at all, except maybe to help her feel like she was doing something.

"All right. We can use Molly's ability to find your dad, and move in slowly. If we're patient enough, we can take people one or two or three at a time and neutralize them."

"Can you not call it that?" she asked. "It sounds nice but it's the kind of thing my dad would have said back when he was working for the Company. It's too…I mean, you know. It sounds like you're trying to avoid using the word 'kill'."

Daddy issues. I used to think Elle was bad, but this…Claire took it to a whole new really confusing level. It was a wonder she wasn't dating men with horn-rimmed glasses.

"Fine. I can put them to sleep or something. It doesn't matter. The point is, it's probably going to take a while."

"That's fine. We can be patient." Her face clearly expressed her dislike of the idea. And I was about to make it worse.

"You're going to wait a mile or so away while I find your dad. I'm going to be busy, and I don't need to be watching out for you too."

Her jaw dropped. "Are you kidding me? You don't need to watch me; I'm not some kid. I can help. And he's my dad!"

I pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to recognize how difficult this must be for her, and not entirely succeeding. "Look, I understand you're upset, but—"

"I know all I do is heal, but I'm not worthless!" she cried. I watched in curiosity as she blinked back actual tears and swallowed. "I need to be a part of this. I know I asked for your help, but…that doesn't mean I don't want to do anything." It was against my better judgment that I acquiesced and told her that as long as she carried her father's gun, she could join me in infiltrating the camp, up to a certain point.

"If we have the chance to keep you out of it, though, I will." I went on before she could interrupt. "Just think, Claire, if I can borrow someone's DNA, I could potentially walk in there, grab your dad, and get out without too much trouble. In fact, I like that better than any idea we've discussed so far."

She pouted about it, but we both knew it would be the easiest solution to this problem. Of course, after I rescued her father…well, we had a silent agreement that certain members of the little carnival would have to be 'neutralized', to use Noah Bennet's word. Like Samuel and whomever had actually kidnapped Claire's dad. Honestly, though, I wasn't looking for much more than that. I knew rather intimately that a lot of the individuals at the carnival were just trying to make a life among people like themselves. Most of them were completely innocent of anything their leader planned; they were easily charmed by his weird recovering-heroin-addict persona and his charismatic, seductive talk of family and equality. I didn't blame them—who didn't like the idea of belonging to a larger group of people who believed in unconditional love?

But Samuel was dangerous, and not all he claimed to be. I'd sensed it at the carnival, and this problem with Noah only confirmed it. Obviously Samuel wasn't going to be peaceful and leave things alone unless I stopped him. I didn't have a problem with that.

"I don't even know why I bothered to get the compass if we were just going to pop over to India and visit Molly," Claire grumbled. I think she was going to say more, but there was a loud pounding at the door. Claire stood on her toes to peek through the hole, and fell back on her heels abruptly.

"Shit," she said faintly. She pressed a small hand against the door to steady herself.

"Who is it?" I asked with concern. She turned to me and I could see that she was a bit pale.

"Maybe you should go wait in the other room for a minute," she said in a low voice. "I don't think he'll be very happy to see you." The door knocked again, and I stayed where I was. There was no way I was going to leave her alone with whomever could freak her out that badly from the other side of a door.

"Fine," she muttered before opening the door. I tensed, ready for a fight, and there stood…Peter Petrelli. What the hell?

"Claire, I wanted to talk to you," he started before noticing who was standing behind her. "What is he doing here?" He reached for her arm, to pull her away from the scary serial killer and put her safely behind her savior, but Claire shied away.

"What do you want, Peter?" she asked coldly. I couldn't understand why she was talking to her favorite uncle and hero like this. She was treating him…almost like me.

"I came to talk to you about what happened. Why is Sylar here with you?" Peter never took his eyes off me, like prey watching the predator. At least he knew better than to underestimate me. Fact was, I could kill him in an instant, whether he was ready for me or not.

Claire bit her lip. "He's helping me find my dad. Remember, he was kidnapped?"

"You said he lied to you. He was posing as your boyfriend…and now you've hired him on as a part-time worker?" Peter asked in disbelief.

"No," she protested hotly. "He's helping me because he wants to. And because he owes me."

"Well, I don't know how you managed it, but you can get rid of him now. I'll help you." He reached out to her again, and again she took a small step back towards me.

"You can't trust him," he said angrily.

Claire pressed her lips together to keep them from trembling. I was aching to know her thoughts, and it was all I could do not to let them rush into my brain.

"I'm really sorry, Peter. But things have changed. I think I may actually be able to trust Gabriel…." she walked back to stand next to me, "but I don't know if I'll ever feel quite the same about you again. Not for a long time, anyway."

I was stunned. Claire was choosing me over Saint Peter? How had things changed so quickly? And what could he possibly have done to make her lose faith in him?

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**A/N: :)... Hope you enjoyed. Reviews are appreciated and internalized. :) **

**--Mel and Chuck**


	24. Of Fantasy and Reality

**Chapter Twenty Four: Of Fantasy and Reality**

I knew things were about to go very wrong when Claire took my hand in hers, squeezing tight and refusing to meet her uncle's gaze. He looked livid, and I wasn't sure I could blame him. Here I was, the man who had murdered his brother… and his own flesh and blood would rather touch me than be near him. The daughter of the man I had killed was clinging to my hand like it was a lifeline while the one who had repeatedly saved her from me in the past looked on in disbelief and disgust.

He moved so quickly I barely had time to react. The damned speedster ability he had absorbed took me by surprise and I only stopped him an inch or so from Claire, flinging him back with all of my might—which was considerable given I was using telekinesis—and listening satisfied as his back slammed against the wall.

Claire didn't move. She just clung to my hand more tightly, cutting of circulation as her nails dug into the back of my hand.

Against the wall, Peter struggled. "What have you done to her?" he hissed, struggling to breath past the pressure I was exerting on his chest.

I raised an eyebrow, taking a few steps forward. Claire loosened her grip on my hand and folded her arms across her chest.

"What did I do?" I asked softly, tilting my head to the side and watching Peter as he fought to gain control of his body, "I think the more interesting question is, what did _you _do to turn Claire's feeling for you from adoration to contempt?"

"Go to hell," Peter spat out, muscles straining. I smiled, chuckling long and slow.

Behind me, I sensed Claire tense. "Gabriel, don't—" she began, like she knew what I was about to do… but I didn't listen, and the next thing I knew, I was in Petrelli's head.

_Work, just work on it, I can get loose. Claire, God. Gut him when I get down. Make Claire come with me. Work, strain. If I move fast enough I can get down. Kick the legs, kick. Come on, kick!_

His thoughts were telling me nothing. With a growl, I pushed deeper, trying to rip what I wanted out of him—and then I was swimming in a world of pictures, flickering images, and movie reels.

This was interesting. I hadn't had any idea Parkman could delve into people's memories. Maybe he hadn't known either.

I brushed away the surprise and started to look for what I wanted. I focused on Claire and tried sifting through the layers. Peter's mind was really ridiculously simple when viewed in pictures. His thoughts worked the same way his emotions did, in layers. Whatever emotion was on hand took precedent, with the others all but disappearing.

In a different situation I would have laughed at this, at his less than complex mind and my sudden aptitude at what I would later jokingly call legilimency. But not then, not when he was scaring the shit out of Claire and being an absolute jerk, not when I finally had him pinned to a wall and at my mercy. Hell. After what he'd done to me with the nail gun, he deserved this… and he deserved it to hurt.

So I pushed, pushed with all of my might past the angry pictures of me with nails sticking out of my body while I oozed blood which lingered right behind his eyes, to the distress over Claire's anger which took the form of her smiling at him… and then I found what I was looking for. Under it all, a slow moving video looking thought of him with Claire.

She was on a park bench looking teary eyed and distressed. I recognized the outfit she wore as the same one she'd been in the day her father had been taken. The day she's found out about me. And then, Peter was holding her, stroking her and murmuring something as he pressed his lips to her forehead. She looked up, and then the bastard was kissing her, pressing his lips to hers as his eyes fluttered shut and hers widened and he seemed to sigh with contentment.

I couldn't tell whether I screamed or he did, but the next thing I knew I was stalking towards him and there was electricity pulsing out of my palms into his body, making him convulse as spittle flew from his mouth and his eyes rolled back in his head.

There were small hands yanking at my shirt, grabbing at my shoulders trying to pull me back. Nails dug into the back of my neck and my throat as they tried to turn my head.

He had kissed her, taken advantage of her while she was vulnerable. The bastard, the man who was supposed to have been there for her, had completely betrayed her. Just like a Petrelli, completely fucked over with parental issues and some sort of need to not be second best. And all the while he'd masqueraded as a hero, lusting after his barely legal niece, the daughter of his dead brother. I may have been all kinds of crazy and screwed up, but his lust disgusted even me.

"Gabriel, Gabriel," somewhere behind me, Claire's voice echoed, sounding panicked.

In front of me, Peter bit his tongue as he jerked and blood started spilling from his mouth.

"Sylar!" Claire shrieked.

I dropped my hands like I'd been burned, and Peter's body fell to the floor, quivering and continuing to convulse as he shook.

Claire nails bit into my forearm as she stared, horrified.

"Your blood," I said hoarsely, "Claire, he needs your blood."

Eye's wide, she shook her head slowly, like she couldn't comprehend what she was seeing.

I growled. If he died, Claire would regret it later. I grabbed her by the wrist, dragging her forward as she stumbled behind me, pulling her down to kneel beside her uncle. I slit the flesh of her hand with long practiced ease, yanking her palm over to Peters mouth and keeping the flesh parted so it wouldn't heal before enough blood had spilled onto his wounded tongue. It was definitely gross and just a little nauseating, watching him gurgle on Claire's blood… but soon I could tell the blood had made it into his bloodstream he began to heal.

I let Claire go and she stumbled back, scrambled on her hands and knees to sit by the wall and watch, horrified.

"I'm sorry," I croaked, unmoving. She didn't respond, but I couldn't let this happen. I couldn't let this scum-bag ruin what little progress we'd made before he arrived. "I saw what happened in the park," I said softly, "I lost my temper—I'm not trying to excuse this, but I—"

Claire cut me off before I could say any more.

"Please make him go away," she said softly, covering her eyes with one hand and propping her elbows on her knees.

I swallowed, nodded, and picked him up, keeping him telekinetically bound as I rocketed off of her father's balcony and headed for the open ocean. It was time to see how fast Peter Petrelli had really become. Fast enough to run on water? Somehow I doubted it.

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**A/N: :)... Hope you enjoyed. Reviews are appreciated and internalized. **

**Sorry we've been taking longer on the updates. Its the end of the semester, and we both got a bit behind with finals and papers and whatnot. We're in the process of trying to catch up with the installments now. Also, we're about eleven chapters in to our newest story. Look for that after we finish posting Interesting Hobby. :) **

**--Mel and Chuck**


	25. Of Rescues and Returns

**Chapter Twenty-Five: Of Rescues and Returns**

Gabriel had insisted that we not head out looking for my dad just after Peter's unexpected arrival, and I agreed. Instead of feeling focused and ready to rescue him from the carnival, I was distracted by Peter, and what he had done…and what Gabriel did to him in return. God, it had been terrifying. I don't think I'd ever seen him so frightening, ever.

He'd come back after flying Peter to God only knew where, and stood by the window, looking vaguely ashamed of himself. His face reminded me of Michael's right after he'd killed my would-be kidnapper, and I shivered.

Sylar may have been on my side, and he may have loved me, but that didn't mean he didn't still scare me just a little.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

Then I went into my room and shut the door for a while, just to breathe and try to forget Peter and how I barely even wanted him to be okay after being electrocuted. Of course, I spent all of maybe twenty minutes in there before I started getting distracted by dirty thoughts.

"Screw it," I muttered before opening the door and throwing myself on the couch. Gabriel was sitting at the table, poring over maps of the United States with a red ballpoint pen in hand. He was muttering to himself, turning pages slowly. His eyes were glued to the maps, and I found myself staring before I realized it.

I may have been half-asleep when I had said it to him, but he really was nice to look at when he wasn't splattered in blood and killing people like they were so many flies. 'Flies' wasn't really the word, though; he'd killed them like...well, like they had something he needed. And according to him, they did.

"Staring's rude, you know," he reminded me without looking up. He smiled to himself, and I knew he was remembering his first conversation with me when I knew him as Michael. I knew he was remembering it, because I was too.

"How do you know I'm looking at you at all?"

He smirked, still not looking at me. I could hear the amusement in his voice. "I can feel your eyes on me. And your thoughts always get louder when you're looking at me."

My brow furrowed and I felt a flash of annoyance. "You're listening in?" I quickly said some nasty things in my head—if he was listening, it served him right.

"No," he replied. "I've been doing my best to allow you some privacy. But I have to mentally shut you out, and sometimes you might as well be hammering down the door, if you know what I mean."

"Yeah, well," I said off-handedly, trying to conceal my embarrassment. I hopped up and moved toward the table, changing the subject. "What are you doing?"

He looked up and raised an eyebrow. "I would think that's obvious. I'm trying to locate your dad. I have it narrowed down to...somewhere in the Midwest."

"I didn't realize it was so difficult."

"It won't be, once I get used to it, and maybe have the chance to practice. Now go away so I can concentrate."

I lounged around the apartment for another ten minutes before he spoke up. "He's a mile or so outside of Ellinwood, Kansas. It's small, but I think right now Samuel's trying to lure you away from the people who could help you."

I grabbed the gun that I'd moved to the desk in my room. "Ready?"

"Guess so."

We stood there for a minute, unsure of ourselves. It was one thing to say we were rescuing my dad, and an entirely different one to actually get up and go. I was afraid of what Samuel might have done to him, and afraid of what might happen when we showed up.

"It'll be fastest if we just fly ourselves," he said. "But if you'd rather, we can go to the airport—"

"No," I interrupted. "It's been too long already. I want to find my dad."

He nodded, crossing the room to open the doors to the balcony. I stepped in close to him, trying not to gasp when he picked me up without any hesitation. At that point, it was probably best that I shut my eyes and let my mind go blank. God forbid I should cloud his mind with my thoughts while we were flying.

I guess it was a couple hours before we landed. We didn't really talk during the trip—it's kind of hard to hear the other person when you're flying at top speed and the wind's whipping all around. Gabriel finally set me down outside a small Catholic church with a sign that read 'St. Joseph's Rectory'. Across the street were a tiny post office and a steepled building that looked like it might be a school.

"Let's go," he said simply. His face was serious, and I suddenly got the feeling that he didn't want to do this. He took off walking with those long legs, and I had to take two steps for every one of his.

"You can back out if you want," I offered, knowing that if he did, I didn't have much chance of rescuing my dad by myself. I didn't even know where to find him, or how to get him out of there.

He chuckled, more to himself than anything else. "I'm not going to leave you here, Claire. You asked for my help." We were silent for a few blocks before he spoke up again. "I really want you to wait outside of the camp."

"I know you do," I responded steadily. "But I highly doubt my dad is going to leave with you, even if you looked like someone else. You need me." He sighed heavily, and that was the end of it.

We walked a little over a mile before we reached the carnival, and I had to swallow hard to combat the tightness of my throat. Gabriel put a hand lightly on my back, guiding me. We walked by several people, none of whom seemed to notice us.

"I really like this power," Gabriel murmured with enjoyment, and I realized that he was using Matt's ability. That had been a good choice.

As we moved closer to the center of the camp, his skin seemed to shudder, and suddenly Michael was standing next to me. I tried not to jump, but he must have noticed my surprise.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, "but he looks less threatening." He certainly did. Now we were just two kids walking around—for all these people knew, we could have been locals. We moved quickly, finally coming to a stop in front of a small trailer.

There was a padlock on the door, which Gabriel quickly disintegrated. He hesitated for a second, and then told me to be ready to run if there was someone besides my father inside. I nodded, and we opened the door.

My dad was blindfolded, gagged, tied up, and handcuffed. What exactly did Samuel think Noah Bennet was capable of? He wasn't a special, for God's sake. All this seemed like massive overkill. I knelt down, pulling the gag and blindfold away.

"Hi, Claire-bear," he said with a weary smile. "You really shouldn't be here, though." I hugged him, unable to express how glad I was to see him okay. He had a few bruises on his head, but other than that he seemed to be fine.

"Dad, we need to get you out of here. I have a lot to explain, but we can do that later."

He looked past me, confused. "What is Michael doing here?"

"Later, Dad."

Gabriel examined the bonds on my dad before disintegrating them with a snap of his fingers. "Time to go."

We walked cautiously out of the trailer, moving close together and as quickly as we could without looking conspicuous. It seemed almost laughably easy, considering we'd spent the time to get Gabriel's extra powers.

I should have known better.

"You took longer than I thought you would, Claire. You didn't lose my compass, did you?"

I turned to see Samuel ambling toward us. At his side was Eric Doyle; less than a second later, a blur moved out of nowhere to join them. I turned back and saw more people closing in on Gabriel and my dad. Time seemed to slow down for me, and I processed several things very rapidly.

One: There was no way that Gabriel could take on all these opponents and simultaneously keep my father out of harm's way.

Two: I was what Samuel really wanted. Now that I was here, he would kill my dad and thereby eliminate any chance of his coming after us.

Three: The three of us would never get out of here together.

My next actions were easily made. I began shooting my father's gun randomly, creating a distraction. The speedster moved to my side in no time and grabbed my arm, twisting it behind my back.

"Michael!" I screamed, desperate that my father be saved. "Take him and go! Fly!"

Gabriel's face blanched, but he nodded firmly, grabbing my dad and shooting into the sky in one smooth motion. I watched them go, relieved that they were safely out of here.

Samuel walked until he was standing in front of me. "Glad to have you back, Claire."

**

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**A/N: If you haven't heard the news, Heroes has been cancelled. Feel free to mourn a great loss in our review section. Posting again ahead of schedule because I figured we all need a fix.**

**--Mel and Chuck**


	26. Of Intentions and Impotence

**Chapter Twenty-Six: Of Intentions and Impotence**

I stared at the walls of the trailer. Lined with prizes large and small, it was more than a little surreal. This was not how it was supposed to have ended up. By now the plan would have had the three of us back at Gabriel's place near Arlington, Dad on a Valium in the bedroom or something after finding out that his daughter's (ex?) boyfriend was actually one of the killers he'd dedicated his life to stopping and containing. Instead, I was locked into a carnival trailer with armed guards—literally, I had seen a shotgun on my way in—keeping watch outside to make sure I didn't bust a window and fling myself to the ground. I was a little surprised really, that Samuel was taking me seriously at all; it wasn't an attitude I saw from other people with abilities often. After all, I could heal, but what use was that when I was fighting someone who could control my body or fling me across the room with a flick of their finger?

Samuel seemed to be treating me like the delicate button of an atomic bomb, on the other hand. I was something to be guarded and treated with respect.

I growled, and kicked the side of the trailer, sending a cascade of tiny stuffed bears to the ground. There was no reaction from outside. Of course, there wouldn't be, not after Samuel's little speech before they'd stuck me here.

"I'm sure you all remember Claire," he had said with a smile. I remembered noticing how smeared his eyeliner had become. "She's here to help us; if anything happens to her… let us not contemplate the consequences." Someone in the audience had chuckled at this point. "Instead," Samuel had continued, "Know that Claire is our honored guest. She is to be cherished and protected at all costs."

And apparently carnies locked people in little claustrophobic trailers when they cherished them.

A knock at the metal door made me jump. I screamed for good measure, running at the door as it opened and swinging the first thing I could grab with all my might at the person who stepped in. As it turned out, it was a plastic bat, and it caught the arm of a blonde woman in a long skirt as she raised it to protect her face.

"Claire," she cried out. I recognized her before I let the bat fall again, and gasped, dropping the toy to the ground to keep from swinging it again.

"Lydia?"

The woman nodded, rubbing her arm, which had turned a brilliant shade of red. I winced. "Sorry about that, I thought you were Samuel," I said, only slightly apologetic. Even if Lydia had been the one to warn me off the last time I was here, she was still one of them.

"It's quite all right," she murmured, glancing around the place at the fallen prizes and pursing her lips. "I told Samuel not to put you in here," she said softly. I scoffed, choosing not to reply and crossing my arms instead as the door closed behind her and the lock turned. Lydia jumped at the sound.

"Uncomfortable, isn't it?" I said quietly, "Being trapped?"

Lydia smiled softly, knowingly. "You have no idea."

There was silence after that as I tucked my hands in my jean pockets and waited for the other woman to speak. She seemed to choke on her words for a moment as she patted her skirt and looked around the trailer for someplace to sit comfortable. Finally, she was forced to content herself with a half-broken shelf to lean on.

"Samuel sent me here to talk to you," she said suddenly, arms crossed over her chest as she looked down her long, straight nose at me. I arched a brow, crossing my own arms to mirror hers and leaning back against the only bit of free wall space there was.

"That's a shocker," I said.

Lydia frowned. "Claire, please. I'm pretty sure you know where I stand on this."

I nodded, grudgingly. She had been the one, after all, to convince me to leave the first time. We both knew she was no loyal drone.

"He wanted me to reassure you of his intent. He does not mean to keep you captive, but to embrace your abilities and protect you," I rolled my eyes.

"And what exactly does that mean?" I wanted to know, "In real terms?"

Lydia paused, smiling unhappily. "It means your blood is valuable, as is your inability to die, and that keeping you here as his personal 'cure-all' will provide him with a very loyal support base… not to mention the immense power you contribute to his store."

"His store?" I wanted to know. It sounded ominous.

Lydia nodded. "Yes. I told you before that he was… collecting us, for want of a better term…"

A rough knock on the outside of the trailer made us both jump and a man's gruff voice called out. "Hurry up, Lydia!" he called.

"Give me a minute or two more," she called back, before turning her worried and wearied gaze back to me.

"I'm supposed to bring you to dinner," she murmured. I shook my head. "Please," she said, "The camp has already moved, and there is nowhere for you to run. You may as well eat… no one here will hurt you."

I laughed dryly. "No one here _could_ hurt me," I corrected.

Lydia inclined her head with a grim smile. I could see the tattoos on her arm shift as she uncrossed them, and I remembered something.

"You sent him to me," I said, my voice gone too loud for the trailer.

The woman's eyes widened. "Gabriel," I specified, taking a few steps towards her, "You're the one who sent him to me!"

Lydia raised one hand and held it out in front of her, as if warding me off. She looked shocked for some reason, though God only knew why. She had to have known he'd taken her power. Hadn't Gabriel told me they'd gotten… close?

"Sylar?" she asked, cautious. "Sylar saw you?"

I nodded. "You gave him the tattoo," I said, confused, "the one that turned into me?"

She shook her head. "No. He took my power, but that's the last I saw of him… why would he have... Oh." She paused, frowning as someone pounded on the outside of the trailer again. "It was him, wasn't it? The boy who flew away with your father?"

I gulped, nodded. Did this mean they hadn't figured it out yet? They didn't know it was Gabriel who had saved my father? Gabriel who would no doubt come for me?

Lydia smiled. She looked more please than she had since she'd arrived. "Then he is doing something about his impotence," she said softly. I raised a brow. Impotence? Hadn't he told me they hadn't… oh. She was talking about the same aversion to death he had mentioned. I blushed. "This is good news," she continued, smiling widely and making her way towards the door, motioning for me to follow. "We'll talk more later," she said, she was whispering now, "And whatever you do, don't mention Sylar to anyone but me."

It was my turn to look confused, but at this point my only real choice was to trust Lydia. I knew she wasn't fully in league with Samuel, and last time she had been the only one who had been at all honest with me in this place… And it would be a good idea to have at least one ally in this place until Gabriel came for me.

She pounded back on the door and the lock turned. Sunlight flooded into the trailer as she motioned for me to follow her.

I didn't recognize the place outside of the little prison. We were in a green valley with mountains on either side and a river rushing by somewhere in the distance. Two armed men followed behind Lydia and I as we walked.

We rounded several trailers similar to my own before we reached the table. Everyone was already seated, at least forty people lining the long table and staring at where I stood with Lydia. At the very end of the table sat Samuel, booted feet propped on one corner as he smiled widely and motioned for us to sit.

I shivered. Gabriel really needed to get here soon.

**

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**A/N: If you haven't heard the news, Heroes has been cancelled. Feel free to mourn a great loss in our review section. Posting again ahead of schedule because I figured we all need a fix.**

**--Mel and Chuck**


	27. Of Healing and Faith

**Chapter Twenty-Seven: Of Healing and Faith**

You'd be surprised how many people could get hurt in setting up and taking down camp every day. Multiply all those daily little injuries and illnesses by fourteen and you can see how I was kept pretty busy as a makeshift nurse.

I'd been with the carnival for two weeks, and every single night I wondered what the hell had happened to Gabriel and why I was still here. Not that I was being mistreated or anything—not really. Actually, most everyone was really nice. But I was still being used. I mean, at that point I had sort of resigned myself, and there were worse things I could be doing other than helping people get better, but I resented the fact that I had no choice.

It was simple, really. I helped out wherever and however I could until someone found me with a problem, at which point I would escort him or her to the trailer I'd been assigned to live in. I kept a syringe there so that I could draw a few milliliters from my arm and inject it into my patient's. Just one—not like I had to worry about bloodborne pathogens. And with a shot of my blood, my patients didn't have to worry about it either.

"What did you do this time, Dan?" I asked as we walked. Dan was a couple of months younger than I was, and a muscle mimic. His problem lay in the fact that a lot of the stunts he saw in movies were faked, so when he tried them himself he often got hurt. Compound fractures, concussions, burns, cuts—it seemed like Dan had come in with everything, and in only a two-week period. I shuddered to think what he'd done before I showed up. When I mentioned that, he'd laughed and told me that he'd had to actually be careful before I came along.

Today it was just a dislocated shoulder. Apparently he and a friend (who happened to have incredible strength) had gone out across the meadow and started throwing rocks. After watching Leon throw a miniature boulder like half a mile, Dan figured he could show off and do the same thing. Unfortunately, his shoulder joint couldn't take the stress and popped halfway through the action.

"Can you hurry up and stab me already?" he groaned as he sat on my bed and I pulled out the needle.

"It's not my fault you were out so far when you decided to be an idiot, Dan," I retorted without heat, motioning for him to angle his bad arm closer to me. "You make the decisions that hurt you, and then expect me to just fix you right up."

Dan's face relaxed as my blood went to work repairing his torn muscles, though he winced at the 'pop' his shoulder made as it went back into place. "Hey, we all have a job, right? You're just exceptionally good at yours." He gave me a winning smile as he rotated his shoulder. "And the rush I get from doing cool new things is worth the temporary pain."

I rolled my eyes, wiping the needle on a tissue and replacing it in the nightstand. "And what happens when I leave? You'll have to go back to being careful or having long periods of recuperation."

He stopped and looked at me, confused. "Why would you want to leave? I mean, I know maybe this wasn't entirely your decision, but we have a great life here."

"Dan…" I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "This is a good place for people like us. I don't hate it here, that's for sure. But I'm not planning on spending much of my long life here, either."

He blinked and a slightly horrified look spread across his face. "If you live forever…and you look like that…you _are_ only like eighteen or something, right?"

I laughed aloud, enjoying Dan's fear that he was alone with a 70-year-old woman. "Yes."

"Oh thank God." His relief was evident as he stood up. "Well, I'm going to go see what I can do out there. Thanks again."

He left with a wave and a smile, and I sat alone on my bed.

I didn't know what to do. I did kind of like the people here; most of them were really nice and sort of went along with whatever Samuel said, only because ultimately (at least as far as they could see) he was the only person who loved and provided for them. I'd gotten to know some of them as I patched up their bruises, and I found that although I was there against my will I got some kind of satisfaction watching children stop crying and healing people's pain. It felt good.

And where was Gabriel? I assumed he and my father were safe, since they weren't here. Had Gabriel revealed himself to my dad, or was he still masquerading as my semi-normal boyfriend? Why hadn't they come to get me? I spent a lot of time on my own, wondering why Gabriel had been willing to save my father, but couldn't seem to make time for me. Maybe that wasn't fair, but I still wondered.

A knock on the door pulled me from my brooding. "Come in," I called, expecting another injured carnie. Lydia stepped inside, pulling the door shut behind her.

"Claire, I need to talk to you." I patted the bed beside me, curious.

Lydia looked at me for a moment, as though trying to read my face. "How did you find us in Kansas?" she asked bluntly.

"He—Gabriel—has a skill for that," I replied guardedly. Lydia may not have been Samuel's stooge, but her cryptic comments two weeks ago had put me on edge, and she had never explained them. We could both play it like that if she wanted.

"So he doesn't have a compass?"

I shook my head. It had been in my pocket, and now it was in my nightstand with the syringe. "I'm not sure he's even looking for me, though. So I guess it doesn't matter whether or not he has a compass."

Lydia shook her head. "Of course he's looking for you. Have faith in him."

I snorted, fourteen days' worth of fear and waiting boiling up. "Are you kidding? You've met him. He's not exactly the kind of person you put your faith in."

She reached forward, brushing my cheek with her fingers. I resisted the urge to cry, and her eyes darkened with new empathy. "You don't believe that. You don't think he's the man he used to be, and you have higher expectations now." She brushed back my hair with her hand and smiled sympathetically. "You've had such a rough time with men in your life that you don't want to hope for anything from them. But Sylar's disappointed you."

I pulled back, a lump in my throat. "Please don't do that. I'm not the kind of person who needs someone to understand what I'm going through."

"Not true, Claire. But I respect your wishes. And I hope that Sylar manages to restore your faith in him."

She opened the door, ready to leave when I spoke up. "His name is Gabriel."

Lydia smiled again. "Of course. Oh, and Claire. Samuel thinks we'll be moving again tomorrow morning."

She shut the door behind her and I was left to think about what she had said.


	28. Of Positions and Conclusions

**Chapter Twenty-Eight: Of Positions and Conclusions**

Sometimes, the place you live becomes the person you are. You see it all the time in farmers who live off of the land and build their lives around the earth's seasons. They become a part of the land because of blood, sweat, tears, and dedication. That was not the case with the carnival. There, the people were connected to each other. It was all about family, and wherever the family was, was home. One day we'd be by the beach, sand in our toes and our hair, and the next we'd be in a green valley shielded on either side by mountains… and none of this affected the people. Even the children seemed complacent about it. When the earth beneath them shifted and everything changed, they just paused, smiled, and went exploring. I tended to get nauseas.

It wasn't that the people weren't making me welcome, because they were. Each and every one of them seemed to have taken Samuel's welcome speech about me to heart and was doing their utmost to make me feel at home. No—it was the knowledge that out there somewhere I had a family of my own. A father, a mother, a younger brother named Lyle and an annoying Pomeranian show-dog that yapped at everything. I even had my own personal night-mare/boyfriend/stalker/lover to confuse the hell out of me when I wasn't being held captive by a loving gang of carnies and their possibly bi-polar leader.

Gabriel. I had been day-dreaming about him lately, not in a fantasy sort of way… but my mind had been putting his face in old situations lately. There he was in class with me, smirking from across the room. In the library, his eyes crossed at all the studying we'd done. Before Christmas dinner he held my hand and smiled encouragingly at me. In my dorm-room he laid beside me, lips warm against mine and tongue slippery. I shivered.

I had placed him firmly in the "it's complicated" category after my chat with Lydia a week before. She was right. I didn't believe he was still the killer, and I needed to have faith in him, faith that he would come and find me and continue to love me even if it had been three weeks since he'd jetted off into the sky with my father—three weeks since he'd left me here to be used and brainwashed by Samuel's clan. Yes, he had disappointed me, first as Sylar (though I wasn't sure his multiple attacks on my family and my person were so much disappointments as acts of terror) and then as Michael, but I needed to believe that these disappointments weren't the whole of him, that somewhere out there he was searching frantically for me, my dad at his side.

A tap at my trailer door made me look up from my hands which rested peacefully in my lap.

"Come in," I called, standing up quickly and grabbing the syringe from the table where it sat, already full with a dose of my blood.

"You won't be needing that," Samuel said. His voice made me shiver and I clutched the needle more tightly. If worst came to worst I could stick it in his eye.

"Lydia tells me you're doing well," he murmured, leaning against the door frame and staring at me where I stood. I refused to look at him, keeping my gaze fixed over his shoulder instead.

"If by 'well,' she means disgusted, depressed, and pissed off, then I suppose I am," I answered.

Samuel chuckled. "Come on Claire, don't you like it here? The family has been nothing but nice to you since you arrived. We've fed you, clothed you, given you your own place—"

"None of which I would have needed if you hadn't first kidnapped my father, killed his friend, and then kidnapped me."

Samuel fell silent, pulled a cigarette from his pocket and lit it with a match. I wrinkled my nose at the smell of cloves as he inhaled and exhaled once. "I would hardly call the last kidnapping Claire, you came to us with a serial-killer on your heels,"

My face blanched. "How did you know—"

"That's beside the point. It is my duty to keep that man as far away from my family as possible, and far away from you. Do you know what Sylar does to people like us, Claire?"

I shook my head. "You don't know what you're talking about."

Samuel raised his brows. "Don't I, now? I know that he killed your father and your mother. And I know what he did to you… I know that he cut your head open and played with your brain—"

"Shut-up!" I screamed, "You don't know him! And I hope he comes and finds me and kills you!"

I was breathing hard and there was something wet and salty on my face. Tears?

Samuel laughed again, took another drag of his clove. "He seems exceptionally dedicated to tracking you down, I'll give you that," he said, "but we've managed to evade him so far… and I seriously doubt he's a match for all of us. Besides, you don't want anyone to get hurt, do you?"

"I want _you_ hurt," I spat. My heart was beating a mile a minute, fluttering around in my chest like a hummingbird as my stomach turned.

"But you don't want Gretchen hurt, do you?"

Gretchen?

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Samuel," A voice calling from the distance interrupted us before he could answer. He grinned once, nodding gallantly before turning to face the voice and leaving me there in the trailer, clinging to the syringe with a racing heart.

Gretchen? They had Gretchen? Or were they just watching her? Did I want something to happen to her? No. Sure, she had hurt me, but that didn't mean I wanted someone like Samuel going after her. I understood her sense of betrayal now, and the last thing I wanted was for something to hurt her because of me.

And how were Samuel and his people evading Gabriel? Was this the reason for the frequent moves? Was I the cause? And if so, how did they know when to move? Surely Gabriel could find me much more quickly then we moved, surely he would come for me. He had been able to find them before—of course, they had wanted us to find them before. They had wanted me.

I set the syringe down on the table and sighed, crossing my arms and resting my head against them.

I was tired. I needed to leave this place, needed to go home. I needed Gabriel to find me and rescue me. I needed my mother and my stupid little brother. I needed my father. I needed to go back to being Claire Bennet the college student and daughter and girlfriend, not Claire the amazing healing girl who lived with Carnies and—

Before I could finish the thought I felt the ground beneath the trailer move quickly and everything seemed to shift. I looked up and out the window at a wide expanse of sand, dotted by trailers and tables and people. Where were we, some sort of desert? Where we even in the United States anymore?

But maybe this meant Gabriel had been close. Maybe we had moved because he was coming for me, because he hadn't forgotten.

Maybe I had to have a little faith.

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**A/N: Mel here: Sorry for my long absence and the lag in our posting schedule. I'm back from six wonderful weeks abroad now though, and will have a bit more time to spend writing this summer. Hopefully we get ahead on the stories again soon, that way the next time our lives get busy we'll still be able to post regular. Thanks for sticking with us. :)**

**-Mel**


	29. Of Truces and Men

**Chapter Twenty Nine: Of Truces and Men**

I looked down at the now-empty meadow and cursed. They were gone again. Two fucking weeks of searching, and I might as well have been searching blind for all the good my powers were doing. Two weeks of getting a location on Claire, shooting into the sky as I focused on that one point, only to arrive and find that they'd moved.

I didn't know how Samuel had managed, but he was staying one step ahead of me, and I was worn out. I could only imagine how Claire felt, trapped with them for so long. It seemed unlikely that he would hurt her—he had nothing to gain from that, after all—but she was counting on me to save her, and I was failing miserably.

We needed a compass. If only Claire had left her father's at the apartment.

I flew back to the D.C. area, angry at my continued failure and annoyed with our lack of options, and when I landed on the balcony I got a nasty surprise.

"We don't need you anymore, Sylar," Peter said smugly from his seat at Noah's kitchen table. "You can leave."

I turned to Noah, feeling betrayed. Yes, I had considered the possibility that we might need to contact Peter, but for him to do it without me? It felt like Peter was right, like I really wasn't needed anymore.

"Both of you settle down," Noah said, seeing the rage building in me, "I don't care about your problems; I just want to get Claire home safely."

"If your priority is Claire's health and well-being," I said silkily, "you may want to reconsider bringing Peter along. The two of them are in a rocky patch."

"I do not care," Noah replied, enunciating each word clearly. "I don't know what you're talking about, and whatever it is can wait until she's home."

He was right, I realized. We needed the compass on Peter's arm; I could get rid of him after that. "Fine. Let's go."

"Hang on, Noah," Peter spoke up. "He doesn't need to be a part of this anymore. He impersonated a college student in order to get close to your daughter. You can't trust him." I regretted again the decision to pose as Michael, but wondered when I would ever be forgiven. Probably never.

Noah's brow furrowed. "I may not like him much, but I've worked with him before and I can do it again. He helped get me out of the carnival and he's worked nonstop to find Claire. I think a conditional trust is not unreasonable, for now at least."

It would have to be good enough. Peter looked mad as hell, but what was he going to do about it? If he made a real issue of it, I had ammunition I could against him too. Of course, then Noah wouldn't trust either of us, and where would that leave Claire? No, it was best to work with a temporary understanding.

_You scumbag, I can wait until Claire is safe, but then you're going to pay for your crimes_.

Peter's thoughts were so clear that he had to have been projecting them to me. It was amusing that he bothered to castigate me—it was old news, me being the bad guy, and he certainly couldn't make me feel any guiltier than I had when Claire had found out my ruse. Petrelli was just one more whiner, crying about how evil I was.

"Let's get going then," he said out loud, rolling up his sleeve to expose the tattoo. Looking at it reminded me of the ink on my own arm, and it made me glad I'd been wearing a jacket. Tensions were high enough without one of them accusing me of being obsessive. The compass needle spun for a minute before settling on a direction.

"Have you changed powers recently?" I asked him, suddenly concerned with how I was supposed to transport him to the carnival. He shook his head and I saw how he was going to turn this in his favor.

"Flying won't be fast enough to get there before they know we're coming. If they're able to sense our proximity, we'll need the advantage."

I ground my teeth against the frustration. "So you think you'll just go get her yourself, right?"

He smirked. "It makes the most sense. I'll be back in no time."

"That's not a good idea," Noah interjected. "I don't want you to go alone."

I knew I'd enjoy slicing his head open for that power, but I got the feeling that Noah wasn't talking about that. Empathizing with Peter Petrelli….damn it. I breathed deep, trying to relax as I opened myself to his thoughts and feelings.

It was not what I expected. Yes, there was the hatred for me, but I was surprised to find him overwhelmed with guilt and uncertainty. It was confusing, finding out that you had a secret niece, understanding that your destinies would always be entwined, and having her return the favor of a life saved. She was such a strong young woman, and so beautiful she made Peter catch his breath every time he saw her. And he was hurt that she'd rebuffed him, and then chosen to ally herself with me after I'd betrayed her.

It all made sense.

"What are you doing?" Peter asked warily.

"I'm sorry," I told him simply. "That's rough." I turned to Noah. "Are you coming with us?"

He frowned. "I'd like to, but bringing me along will slow the two of you down. I'll wait here."

With that we both left the apartment, lingering on the street as Peter checked the compass again. I cleared my throat. "I said I was sorry, Peter, but what I didn't mention in front of her father is that if you ever try anything with Claire again, I'll make you regret it."

His face hardened, his thoughts a mixture of shame and anger. "Yeah, I get it. And if you ever break her heart like you did that day, I'll kill you." We had an understanding, then.

I nodded and took off running, watching everything slide by at an impossible speed, wondering what we would find when we arrived at the carnival.

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**A/N: Attempting to resume regular postings. :)**


	30. Of Stasis and Change

**Chapter Thirty: Of Stasis and Change**

I would never be able to forget the day Gabriel rescued me, not in a million years. No detail would be lost. I would remember forever that in the morning I had skipped breakfast and chosen to drink coffee instead— the sight of the bodies, strewn across an open field, would haunt me until I died.

Breakfast went by quickly and the carnival remained closed. It was a Sunday, and the family took the whole 'day of rest' thing quite seriously. I left the table before anyone else, carrying my caffeine in a tin cup as I wandered away from the people and towards the outskirts of the camp. I was never allowed to go very far unaccompanied, and I noticed as I walked a pair of heavy footsteps following behind me. I didn't bother seeing who it was, and as it turned out, I didn't need to.

"Wait up, Claire!" Dan's voice was entirely too cheery for the morning and I found myself wincing at the thought of his company just yet. Regardless, I paused, giving him time to catch up to me. We settled into a steady pace, leaving the camp quietly and settling onto some jutting rocks in the lovely open field behind it.

"What's on your mind?" Dan asked after I had taken a few sips of my coffee.

I shrugged, staring back towards the camp. Someone shifted in the shadows, catching my attention. Samuel was watching us.

"Claire?"

I looked back at him. What _was_ on my mind? I had been thinking about my family, about Lyle's grades and upcoming SATs. He'd asked me for advice via e-mail the morning Michael had become Sylar, but I hadn't had a chance to respond. Had the date already come and gone? I wondered how he had done.

"My brother," I said, not really expanding.

"Cool," Dan said, a little too enthusiastic, "I didn't know you had a brother. Is he like us?"

I shook my head. "He doesn't have an ability, but he's still a pretty special kid," I thought for a moment and then added, "You remind me of him."

Dan tried to hide his wince and I congratulated myself on discreetly telling him I wasn't interested in him romantically.

An awkward silence seemed to settle as I sipped and he sat until finally— "Do you have a boyfriend or something?" Dan asked.

How was I supposed to answer that? _It's complicated, Dan. You see I _had _a boyfriend, but he turned out to be a man, not a boy, and not just any man, but my own personal stalker/serial killer who I've become weirdly attracted to. Now we're kind of into each other, but I'm confused and angry at him and kind of disappointed because he hasn't come and rescued me yet, killing Samuel in the process… But I still really want to do him. _

"Yes," I said instead, simplifying things and deciding I'd better not go into detail. Dan's shoulders seemed to slump.

"Oh," he said, "I just assumed that since you came alone and all…"

"You know I didn't make the decision," I reminded him. He nodded.

"Right."

I finished my drink in silence and when I had finished we got up to head back. Samuel and a couple of other men I didn't recognize met us half way.

"That was kind of you to keep Claire company, Dan," Samuel said, "but you'd better run along and help inside. We're moving as soon as possible." He met my gaze at the statement, his own eyes showing signs of frustration and determination.

My heart thrilled and I smiled.

"He's on his way, isn't he?" I asked, jubilant.

Samuel scowled. "Take her to the trailer," he ordered the two men beside him, one of whom could take every molecule of oxygen from the air a 20 foot radius around him, and the other, who was a twitchy man who could multi-task by being in several places at once. "Lock her in and stand guard outside.

The rest happened in a matter of seconds. We were on the very edge of the field when I heard it, the rushing whizzing whirl of a speedster closing in. I felt the wind on my face and through my hair and then I was being jerked violently away from the man holding my arm. I didn't know if there was time to move after that, if we'd gone more than a few inches or up to a mile, but in no time at all it all slowed as the breathe I was about to take disappeared and the person dragging me by the arm tried to scream before falling to the ground, taking me with him and turning so that his back hit the ground and I landed, sprawled across him.

It was agonizing, far worse than I would have given it credit for initially. I couldn't breathe, but worse than that, the breath had been drawn from my lungs. The wind had been knocked out of me and my eyes were tearing and I couldn't breathe anymore and I was starting to get light headed… and the man beneath me, all brown hair and startled, frightened eyes… was not Gabriel.

The sight of Peter, my blonde hair splayed across his chest as he gasped for air, turned my stomach and made my heart jump. I was pleased to see him if he'd come to rescue me—he was still the man who had saved my life in Odessa—but the more recent memories only added to the horror of the situation as I scrambled back, trying to catch a breath that wasn't there and feeling everything start to get fuzzy around the edges.

And then it was done, and I was gasping for breath as Peter got to his feet and shouted something to someone behind me. I followed his gaze, whipping my head around to see Gabriel standing there, the oxygen man lying crumpled at his feet, head at an awkward, unnatural angle.

I had never been so happy to see him before in my life. Rather than hatred for the man, rather than horror at the act he had just committed, I felt myself being flooded with relief and a surge of something else warm and familiar. I caught his eye and tried to put the feelings into the look we exchanged, hoped he understood that I had been waiting for him and that yes, I was ecstatic to see him.

I felt a hand on my arm again and looked to my right were Peter was standing. He was saying something again, but I still couldn't really hear him. I didn't really care to hear him. I wrenched my arm from his grip and turned back to Gabriel. Why wasn't he coming over to where I was? Why wasn't he the one touching me?

"Claire!" he shouted, and his voice was the first thing I had really heard since they'd gotten there. "Go with Peter!"

"I don't think so," a low voice said behind me… and then the ground was shaking and sinking beneath my feet, and Peter and I both were falling into the earth as it consumed us quickly, hard stones and soft earth swallowing us whole and packing us in tight until I couldn't see and I couldn't breathe past the dirt in my mouth and my nose. And still things moved and I could feel myself falling down, down, down… and then everything went still. Everything went quiet.

I tried to scream by the sound was so muffled and deadened in the earth, I could barely make out the sound. Soon there was dirt in my mouth, creeping down my throat towards my stomach and my lungs. I was choking, and I felt the violent need to vomit… and then everything went black as I wondered if this was what it was like to truly die.

* * *

**A/N: Attempting to resume regular postings. :)**


	31. Of Victory and Defeat

**Chapter Thirty-One: Of Victory and Defeat**

The oxygen thief dispatched, I turned and watched in horror as Claire and Peter disappeared in the sinkhole that opened beneath their feet. The other man multiplied before my eyes, surrounding me with copies that moved about until I could no longer see which one was the prime. Samuel stood to the side, seemingly willing to let these counterfeits riddle me with bullets until one of them found my weak spot on accident.

"Eli, right?" I said calmly. My eyes scanned the men, looking for some hint of humanity. Perhaps my appearance of nonchalance unnerved him, or maybe it was seeing his friend with his neck broken, but Eli was nervous. One man, barely within my peripheral vision, was sweating. Perfect.

I flung my arm out, electricity pouring from my hand. It wasn't at all as Elle had taught me—no finesse whatsoever, just raw power shooting through my arm into Eli's body. Deep-tissue burns, fibrillation that would lead to cardiac arrest—I found a small part of my brain cataloguing the effects of what I inflicted upon my victim. His copies disappeared as he spasmed helplessly in the dirt.

"You know, Gabriel," Samuel spoke up from the side, "I think you should give some consideration to rejoining our family here. Claire's fitting in nicely, and if you feel strongly about staying with her, we would certainly welcome you back with open arms. You know how much we appreciate talent, Gabriel." A glance into his mind revealed the reason he kept saying my name: he was trying to appeal to the nicer side, to play on my feelings for Claire.

"Don't call me that," I said quietly. He smiled at me with indulgent bemusement.

"I apologize. Claire has insisted that Lydia and I refer to you by your Christian name, but I can call you Sylar if you'd prefer." He was smooth and almost oily, a slick tone that made me want to be far away from this charlatan who spoke of family and love but barely glanced at the men I had killed.

I sneered, hiding the fact that Samuel gave me chills in a big way. "I don't want you to call me anything. We're leaving as soon as I kill you."

The smile dropped, as though he could no longer be bothered with the effort to keep it in place. "Your friends are as good as dead, Sylar. And let's face it. If Claire were here with us, she might not choose to stay here, but she doesn't intend to pick up your friendship where it left off. She can't trust you," he said simply, "You lied to her. You killed her birth-parents. You're not a normal person, and you never will be to her. Why not embrace who you are, and live somewhere where people will appreciate you for every part of you?"

I'd like to say that I didn't give it a second thought, but that wouldn't be true. It's in my nature to take a logical approach, and I did consider his words. After all, a lot of what he said was true. I was a killer and a liar and an anomaly even among the unusually talented. I would never have to downplay any of my skills at the carnival. But ultimately…well, Samuel had kidnapped and now buried the only person I really cared about. I wasn't going to let him off for that.

"Your offer," I started, "It's interesting. Interesting in how you want to convince me that I'm wanted, by pointing out my flaws. I'm going to say no, and fuck you."

Samuel's face twisted as he raised his hands and willed the earth to roll in a huge wave toward me. My mouth opened and I shouted, a sonic boom that knocked him off his feet and dispersed the miniature earthquake headed my way. I didn't use the power often, as it was occasionally hard to control the amount of damage it caused. This time, I couldn't see that it mattered.

He lay shaken on the ground; I don't think he knew I had sound manipulation. He jumped to his feet faster than I thought he could have, sending earth at me from all sides. I sprang into the air, hovering far above his reach, telekinetically reaching out to Eli's forgotten pistol, still clutched in his dead hand. I took aim and emptied it in Samuel's direction. One or two rounds must have hit him, since he crumpled to the earth.

I never claimed to be a good person, or a fair fighter.

A cursory check of Samuel's form confirmed that he was, in fact, dead. I looked at the loose, upturned soil some feet away, and focused on lifting as much of it as I could as fast as possible. Lifting dirt with telekinesis, though, is harder than lifting a solid object. Soil kept spilling back into the hole I was making, and my frustration grew with my sense of urgency.

Finally I could see two figures under the dirt, and I brought them to the surface. Claire began showing signs of life almost immediately, but Peter lay still. I brushed the soil from his face, looking for signs of breathing. Nothing. No heartbeat, either. I tried using small amounts of electricity to defibrillate and restart his heart, but I think I knew there wasn't much point. His body had been weak from lack of oxygen, even before he was buried alive for too many minutes.

Claire choked and rolled away from me onto her side, spitting and wheezing as her body readjusted to the availability of air. She shuddered, trying to shake off the claustrophobia that had overwhelmed her in the dark. "Peter."

I shook my head, even though she couldn't see it. "He's been dead too long. Your blood won't be able to help him this time."

She turned, apparently resigned as she saw his unnatural stillness, but unable to halt the silent tears that began slipping down her face. "I'm sorry, Peter." She wept over him for a minute, until she lifted her eyes to meet mine.

"Thank God," she whispered, and she launched herself at me, curling herself up and clinging. My arms moved on their own, holding her as she cried and mumbled unnecessary words of thanks. In and of itself, it was a truly blissful feeling, but it couldn't last.

I pulled out my cell phone and dialed Noah's number, telling him everything and that his daughter would be home soon. But first I'd have to bring Peter back. Noah told me if I could bring the corpse to his apartment, he'd be able to get it to Peter's mother with considerably fewer problems than if I showed up on her doorstep.

"I'll be back very soon," I promised Claire as I led her to a nearby thicket of trees. "You can hide here until I return for you." She nodded, determination in her eyes that swore she wouldn't be going back to the damn carnival no matter who came for her.

I went back to the body, lifting it and taking off. Noah had already made some calls in the short time since we'd spoken—there was a coffin in his living room. I laid Peter in there gently, silently giving thanks that I did not have to be the one to pass him on to Angela Petrelli.

"I'll probably be leaving when you come back," Noah informed me. "It's better not to wait on this kind of thing. You and Claire can wait here until I return."

I nodded and left again, worried that I'd left Claire alone. I didn't need to be. I found her exactly where I'd left her, with a hefty tree branch in her hands.

"Let's go," I told her, gently pulling the branch from her death-grip. She dropped it reluctantly, stepping closer to me so I could pick her up. We sped off home, and at last I could breathe easily, knowing that she was safe with me.

* * *

**A/N: And that's it for a little while. We're all caught up on this storyline, and will be until Chuck returns to the internet on Tuesday, at which point she will be coerced into writing. Next post may not come until Wednesday or Thursday. Thanks for the love. :)**

**-Mel**


	32. Of Truths and Texts

**Chapter Thirty-Two: Of Truths and Texts**

Gabriel wasn't at Peter's funeral—he took the opportunity to make sure Samuel's threats about Gretchen had been empty— and if it hadn't been for Angela, I wasn't sure whether I'd have gone either. It may have been selfish or stupid of me, but the change in my emotion towards Peter hadn't been fixed by his death. Though I certainly mourned his loss, it was a loss which had begun that day on the park bench. I mourned the hero, the uncle, the man who had rescued me on more than one occasion and been a role model to me, and that man had died before his heart stopped.

I went home with my father after the funeral and kept to my bedroom. There wasn't much to say in the apartment. My dad had banned Gabriel from the house as soon as he'd returned that first day, telling him I needed time to get my head straight. The teenage part of me had resented the implication, but the part of me that had begun to age, the almost adult bit of me, knew that he was probably right. I'd nodded and watched my savior leave through the front door, shoulders slumped and a pained expression in his eyes.

So I lay across my bed, staring up at the ceiling with one hand resting across my stomach and the other behind my head. I let my mind wander as I stared, making patterns in the stucco without much thought and trying to sort things out in my head. I could feel myself nearing a decision as I laid there, I'd been circling it since I'd been rescued a week ago and though I knew it would satisfy neither of us, that new-found adult part of me knew that it was the right course of action. There were far too many factors to ignore, too many people to think of, too many lies to over-come.

When my phone beeped in a text, I took it as a sign.

_Claire—Gretchen is fine. Is it done?_ Gabriel asked. Of course he meant the funeral.

_Yes. We're home now._

_Do you want me there?_

I closed my eyes, rubbing at my temple and trying to calm myself. Did I? Want him there? Some part of me did, but a larger part of me knew it wasn't possible.

_No. _

_Claire?_

_I grateful for what you did, but we can't go back to the way it was._ I said. My throat was swollen, my eyes blurry. God. It was a very good thing even he couldn't hear or see me via text message.

His next message didn't come for several minutes.

_What's next then?_

It was a reasonable question, a good question even. It wasn't his fault I had no answer.

_Any suggestions? I'm feeling pretty open to them at this point. _I hit send and tried my very best not to cry. This could not be happening. I was not breaking up with the one person I'd let myself feel something for. Sure, he was a killer and a liar… but I had… had what? Loved him? I would never admit that to myself. There was too much history, too much to over-come. He had killed Nathan, for Christ's sake. Or at least the serial killer him had. He claimed to have changed since then, and who knew if it was true.

I heard a small sob echo somewhere in the room as I answered my own question. I knew. I didn't know what had changed him, maybe it was living the normal life as Nathan for so long, knowing what it was to be loved and to love in return… but he had definitely changed. Did that absolve him of his sins? I wondered for a moment what he would have to say on that subject were I to ask him. What did the Catholic Church to which he subscribed have to say about forgiveness for murder? Repentance, was that the word?

My phone chimed again.

_What I said in your room before the gunshot… it's still true. _

The "I love you" echoed in my brain as I tried not to picture him there on the bed with me, kissing him and feeling him hard and velvet in my hand.

_I know, _I responded, _does that change anything?_

_I'd like to think so. _

I shook my head and sighed.

_Gabriel… please. _

_What do you want, Claire?_

It was a good question, a reasonable question… and damned if I knew the answer. I did, however, know what conclusion I'd come to in the last week, and I knew I should stick with it.

_You won't like it. _I told him.

_Maybe not, _he admitted, _but I'll respect it. _

I had no doubt that he would.

_I want us to be over. I want to see boys my own age and not have to worry about how you'll react. I want to be 18 and in a normal relationship. _

I tried not to imagine the expression on his face, the pain he was feeling. My own reaction, the tears now streaming freely down my face, was quite enough.

Half an hour later, after the tears had stopped, I got my response.

_Claire—I love you. If that's what you want then I won't protest. Just… Please don't cut me out completely._

I tried not to imagine what amount of pain would reduce this proud man to begging as I responded.

_Gabriel, it's not like I can be your friend and a part of my family. _

His response was almost immediate.

_I'll stay away from them. We'll just go back to Michael and Claire, Pre-Thanksgiving. _

I cringed.

_I don't want you to pretend to be someone you're not for me ever again. _

_Claire… please. I don't have to see you every day or every week. I just… want to be able to talk to you, to know you. You… have anchored me. Please. I'll respect your guidelines; I'll stay out of your family life, your love life. I just… I need you. Your face is on my arm for a reason. Something has drawn me to you, and it has had a profound effect on me. Don't take that away. I'm begging you. _

I sent off my response through bleary eyes and set the phone on my bedside table.

That was it then. Decisions had been made and it was all over. I could be Claire Bennett again, collegiate student and doting daughter. I could live and go on dates and love people without Gabriel stopping me… I was free.

My heart broke a little at the thought.

I heard my father call me from the kitchen, got up to check my reflection in the mirror, and made my way from the room. On the nightstand, my phone sat silently for the rest of the night.

**END PART ONE**

* * *

**A/N: Dear all. I apologize for the delay in posting this. We have reached the end of the first part of Collide and hope you have enjoyed it. We know this ending is... tough, but do not fret. We're deciding now whether to post Part Two in this thread or begin a new one with a new title. Either way, there will be more. Please leave your thoughts with us in the review section. :) **

**-Mel**


	33. A Meal and a Change

**_PART TWO_**

**Chapter One: A Meal and a Change**

The restaurant was not my normal type of place. I didn't tend to frequent venues where the servers carried cloths over their arms and offered you wine with your lunch, but my host had chosen the place and I hadn't wanted to disappoint him. Of course, the fact that he was nearly twenty minutes late had me thinking a whole slew of less charitable thoughts.

I waved the waiter away for the third time as he made his way over. There was no point letting him get to the table where he'd glance sympathetically at the empty seat in front of me before asking whether I wouldn't rather order before my guest arrived. Not only was I not eager to eat alone, but if my host didn't show up I wouldn't exactly be able to afford a meal from an establishment of this caliber. Even their lunch menu was exorbitant, and as a recent college graduate still applying to various grad programs, law schools, and employers… I was dirt poor.

Glancing down at the golden watch draped around my wrist, and noting the time, I sighed. It wasn't like him to be late, but this new job seemed to be running him ragged. Obviously he didn't need to work, but he claimed to enjoy it. I had my doubts—after all, being a securities sales agent didn't sound that interesting. From what I understood he brokered deals between large corporations and made a huge amount of money in the process. It didn't exactly sound like stimulating work, but he told me he liked the thrill and the challenge of it. And really, the fact that he'd managed to complete his bachelor's in just two years and was nearly finished with his MBA was astounding enough to prove his competence to his new employers. I had had to study for countless hours to keep my grades high enough to impress people, and while I'd managed to do so I still wasn't nearly as notable as he was.

"Claire," his voice startled me and the glass of ice water I was holding sloshed over the edge, dripping onto the tablecloth. His hand covered mine, steadying it and guiding it down to the table, where I released the glass and looked up to meet his gaze.

In four years of friendship, I still hadn't gotten over his eyes. Dark and wide, they spoke volumes every time they met mine. I blushed, and looked back down at the tablecloth.

"Gabriel," I said, dabbing at the damp spot with my napkin.

"Sorry I'm late. My conference call went long. Have you ordered?"

I raised a brow and crossed my legs beneath the table. My hose made them slide smoothly beneath my pencil skirt. "Do I ever?"

"Touché," Gabriel said, taking his seat and looking around for the waiter. He waved him over and we ordered our food quickly before being left alone once more.

"So this is a nice place," I commented, glancing around the restaurant again before settling my gaze back on him.

"I thought it was appropriate," he confided, dark eyes glimmering as they swept over me and he smiled. I felt myself blush once more.

"Appropriate for what?" I asked, not minding the flirtatious banter in the least. It was part of our ritual and had been since we started the weekly meetings my freshmen year. I thought suddenly of the conversation we'd had after Peter's funeral. I'd told him things couldn't stay the same, not after what we'd gone through, after what he'd done, but I hadn't been able to cut ties completely. Hell, I hadn't even wanted to.

_Something has drawn me to you, and it has had a profound effect on me. Don't take that away. I'm begging you._

I could still see that message when I closed my eyes sometimes, could still hear my response.

_I couldn't even if I wanted to. We'll talk more next week. Please wait for my call._

And he had. We'd talked at length eventually about our relationship, about my need for normalcy and for a lack of romance between us, about my need to develop faith in him and about his need to grow as a person outside of who he had once been. We'd come away from it with a plan to meet weekly when possible and communicate often.

Of course, the sexual tension hadn't completely dissipated with the decision. I still had feelings for him and he for me… but we distracted ourselves with friendship and tried to move on. We'd developed a remarkable restraint. Of course, I'd dated other people, but my short relationships hadn't been a topic of conversation between us. Besides, none of them had progressed beyond a few short kisses and about a month; they hadn't exactly been life changing.

Gabriel spoke from in front of me, bringing me back to the present. "For the conversation we're going to have," he told me.

I smiled. "And what conversation would that be?" I asked, taking a sip of my water.

"The one where I tell you I think it's time to reevaluate our arrangement," he stated simply.

I choked on my water as the waiter brought Gabriel's glass of wine to the table. He accepted it while giving me a few moments to recover, before asking if I was all right.

"Yes," I said, "I'm fine, just a little… surprised?"

Gabriel shrugged. "I thought you might be, but this needs discussing."

I shook my head. "Gabriel, we've talked about this before. Things are the way they are now because that's the way they need to be!" My voice was a little too sharp and I regretted it instantly. Silence reigned at the table for a few seconds before I spoke again. "I'm sorry," I said softly, "I didn't mean to raise my voice. I just wasn't expecting this to come up."

Gabriel raised one thick brow at me in doubt. "We've both known this was coming for a while now, Claire."

I made a noncommittal sound and studied my nails.

Gabriel sighed. "We agreed when we started this that one day we might reevaluate things," he reminded me. "You haven't seen someone in over two years, and I haven't been with someone since you and me."

"Thanks for that reminder," I said, a bit sour. It wasn't that I hadn't encouraged him to see other people, because I had… but he had always made it quite clear that he was waiting for something to happen between us.

Gabriel chuckled. "Oh Claire," he murmured, raising his wine to his lips as I continued to blush.

"Can we change the subject?" I asked, trying to smile things back to normal. "Tell me about your conference call."

Gabriel just shook his head. "It has nothing to do with the possibility of you and I becoming romantically involved," he said blandly.

"That's kind of why I wanted to discuss it," I told him.

"Claire," his voice was low and held a hint of warning, the same tone he often used when our flirtations became a bit too much for him to bear. I sighed.

"Gabe," I said teasingly.

He didn't say anything, just continued to watch me.

"Okay," I said finally, sighing, "Talk."

"I think you should invite me to dinner with your parents."

My jaw dropped and I gaped at him. "You what?" He repeated himself and I was floored.

"Come on, Claire," he said, "We've known each other for years. You know me. You know who I am and how I think. You know what my goals are and that I care about you. Are you really still afraid to let me near your family?"

I shook my head and bit my lip as I stared hard at my folded hands on top of the table. I should have been expecting this. Ever since graduation the month before, when I'd failed to invite him to the graduation party thrown by my parents, he'd been on edge. I didn't blame him, not really. I had always known this would happen one day. We'd been friends for years and my family knew nothing about it. Hell, I'd even managed to keep him hidden from my father. And Gabriel deserved better than that. He was my best friend, and I refused to include him in certain parts of my life. It was cruel, I'd always known it, but it was how I'd chosen to deal with things. And it had worked well up until now; it had been the right thing to do, this compartmentalization of my life. But now, it was time to revamp, and that scared the hell out of me.

"You know that's not true," I said.

"Do I?"

"Gabriel," I said, keeping my voice calm, "I trust you, I trust you with my life and with my family's life. I just… don't think they feel the same."

Gabriel clenched his jaw. "And they never will if I don't get to show them who I've become."

I nodded. He was right, of course, but a part of me was still frightened to let my family in on this. My life with them had been near perfect for the last four years, and introducing Gabriel into it would mess with that. _But he's worth it, isn't he?_ asked a small voice in my head. His friendship means the world to you, and you know you care for him.

"Promise me you'll think about it," Gabriel said finally, eyes pleading as they met mine. "Promise me you'll think about us."

I could do nothing but nod and smile in what I hoped was a reassuring way.

The rest of the meal passed normally and we parted ways an hour later with a hug and a promise that I'd call him soon.

* * *

**A/N: Darling, Darling friends. First, let me apologize for the delay yet again. The semester has begun and Chuck and I are basically full time students who will be spending every waking breathing moment learning or pretending to learn for the next semester. I'm taking 19 credits, studying for the LSATs and have a job while Chuck is working on a Bachelors while also beginning nursing school. We are going to try super hard to make time for this though. We love our Heroes stories as much as you do, and writing is a lovely escape. Second, I want you to know that we're super excited about this second and final part to the Collide series. Hope you are too! Reviews please!**

**Love, Mel. **


	34. The Hard Part

**Chapter Two: The Hard Part**

I'd be lying if I said that our lunch had gone as I wanted it to, but on the other hand, I wasn't surprised. Claire had grown up, sure, but some things about her would never change. She was stubborn and she'd grown comfortable in our routine over the past years; of course she didn't want to talk about changing the status quo. She was afraid of happiness, and it clouded her judgment.

I think if she had told me that she no longer wanted me, I would have dropped the matter and let her move on. But despite the years I felt the same way about her, and I knew she still loved me. I had given her time and space; I had let her grow as an adult, unstifled by romantic entanglement. But four years was long enough.

Claire called two weeks after she told me she'd think about re-evaluating, and I assumed that was the purpose of her call. I was wrong.

"Gabriel! I got two letters today," she said, clearly trying to conceal excitement. "Can you guess who they were from? Do you have any idea what they said?" Her playful attitude brought a smile to my face.

"They were from your mom and dad, right? 'Dear Claire, let's have dinner sometime soon. Bring your friend Gabe. Love, us.' That's about the gist of it, right?" I joked.

"No," she said, "Acceptance letters! Syracuse and the University of Rochester—they said yes! I've been accepted into both of their grad psych programs."

It struck me that she was talking about picking up and moving to New York, and I wondered briefly what that meant for me before being happy for Claire. "Congratulations! Let me take you to dinner."

"I thought you'd say that," she answered. "I might already be outside your door." The bell rang as I stood and hung up the phone.

"Hi," she said warmly, beaming at me proudly. I pulled her into a hug, and her phone rang in her hand.

"Sorry." She rolled her eyes. "Hi, Dad. Did you get my message? Yeah. Thanks." The smile left her face abruptly, replace by an expression of regret. "Actually, one of my friends has already promised to take me out. Well, I really want him to be a part of tonight. No, it's not Torin." I didn't like Torin very much. I was surprised that Noah would assume his daughter was still in touch with the guy.

Claire made a face at me, looking mildly panicked. "It was kind of just going to be about us, actually."

"They can come."

"No they can't."

"They're your parents. Let them celebrate with you."

"Can you hang on a second, Dad?" She put her hand over the speaker and scowled at me. "I don't want to do this. I'm not ready to introduce you as my…"

"Your friend," I told her, frowning. "It's not like you're a teenager with a taboo boyfriend. You're a grown-up, and you can be friends with whomever you like."

"But we're not just friends, are we?" she asked. "You want more than that."

I rubbed my face with exasperation. "Yes, Claire, I do. But with your father on hold, right now may not be the best time for this conversation."

Claire's eyes widened, the phone call forgotten. "Dad, hey. Sorry. Can I call you back? Thanks."

Her phone put away, she faced me, arms folded. "Let's have the conversation then. Right now." Her tone put me on edge, but I sighed and ushered her to the sofa before going into my room.

"Um, hello? What are you doing?"

I turned back toward her, slightly annoyed. "Unless you're going to renege on our plans in favor of your parents, I'm taking you to dinner. I was going to put on something a little nicer. I'll leave the door open so we can still talk."

She blushed, embarrassed. "Okay. Convince me why you think this should happen tonight."

I faced my closet, finding slacks and a dark button-down. "You and I both know that things are going to change one way or the other, Claire. You're done with your undergrad and you're moving on with life. And I…" I swallowed hard, somewhat unsure of my course. "I'm not content with seeing you once a week anymore. It's been a long time, and I've respected your wishes, but…like you said. I want more than that. And I think you do too."

She was quiet for a long time as I dressed and combed my hair. I joined her on the couch before she spoke, "You're right. But it isn't that simple."

She looked up at me. "Gabriel, I do care about you. But your track record is pretty awful. You killed a lot of people, and you did things to me. They will never be okay with that."

I was listening to her, but it's not like I was hearing anything new and shocking. I regretted my actions inasmuch as they had hurt Claire, but as for the rest…well. What's done is done. At some point, I simply have to accept those decisions.

"Exactly. They're never going to be thrilled to find out about me. So you can either keep your life compartmentalized forever, or you can get it over with."

Claire's face fell. Her head rested on my shoulder, and her small hand found its way into mine. "I don't like shutting you out."

I sighed, letting myself enjoy the closeness. "Neither do I."

We met her parents at a nice restaurant. She'd told them that she was bringing her friend, but hadn't warned them who it was. We briefly discussed whether or not I should come as someone else—she had been vaguely in favor of the idea—but had decided honesty would be a more efficient way to deal with things. As such, I'd asked for a slightly more private table.

Her parents had mixed reactions.

Sandra had blanched when she saw me and reached for her ex-husband's arm. Noah surprised me.

"I can't say I'm happy to see you," he said baldly, "but I'm not terribly shocked. How long have you two been talking?" He may not have been surprised, but his hand did reach back several times during dinner, just to reassure himself of the Taser he had on him.

"We never lost touch," I answered smoothly. Next to me, Claire bit her lip and clenched her hands in her lap. Sandra finally seemed to catch her breath.

"Claire, honey, this is your friend? What on earth are you thinking? How long…?" Sandra's voice trailed off as she struggled to understand her daughter's thought process. I looked to the petite woman at my right, waiting to see how she would answer her mother.

"Yes, Gabriel's my friend," she finally said, looking up and facing her parents firmly. "We've been seeing each other for, like, four years. And it works well. He is uniquely capable of understanding everything that I deal with, and he's become someone I can rely on. And I hope you two can deal with that." Her voice wavered as she finished; she obviously felt that if they could not accept our friendship that there would be rifts in her relationships with both of them. Sandra's primary emotion was confusion, while Noah had clearly been expecting something like this. And ultimately, what could they do? Claire was an adult, and any attempt to pull her away from me was risking her happiness and desire to remain close with them.

The rest of dinner was relatively uneventful, despite the possibilities for disaster. We said good night to her parents and I drove her home. She laid her head against the window and was quiet until I put the car in park.

"That wasn't as bad as I thought it would be," she admitted.

"You worry too much," I responded. "Social situations are rarely as bad as you anticipate."

She nodded as she unbuckled her seatbelt and angled her body towards mine. "Gabriel? What's going to happen when I move to New York?"

I paused for a while. I didn't really know; I liked my job, but I was sure I could get another one if I were to move. On the other hand, I wanted her to understand that I couldn't just be the platonic friend anymore.

"Have you decided on which one to attend?"

"Not yet," she said quietly. "It's only been a few hours."

"Well, then we'll cross that bridge when we come to it," I answered flatly. "Like you said, there hasn't been much time to consider."

She hesitated, and then, "Gabriel? The hard part was tonight. I…I want to change things between us."

Something in my chest leaped at her words, but I choked it back and said calmly, "Okay. That's good. Good to know."

She scrunched her nose and smiled shyly at me, leaning forward to kiss my lips firmly. "Thank you. Good night, Gabriel," she called before shutting the car door. I watched her walk inside before putting the car back in drive.

I spent the rest of the night remembering how she had initiated things with me her freshman year. Now it looked like she was going to start things all over again.

* * *

**A/N: Darling, Darling friends. First, let me apologize for the delay yet again. The semester has begun and Chuck and I are basically full time students who will be spending every waking breathing moment learning or pretending to learn for the next semester. I'm taking 19 credits, studying for the LSATs and have a job while Chuck is working on a Bachelors while also beginning nursing school. We are going to try super hard to make time for this though. We love our Heroes stories as much as you do, and writing is a lovely escape. Second, I want you to know that we're super excited about this second and final part to the Collide series. Hope you are too! Reviews please!**

**Love, Mel. **


	35. Textual Communications

**Chapter Three:** **Textual Communication**

I woke up on the morning after Claire kissed me good-bye and boarded a plane to New York, with a slight migraine. Saying good-bye to her had been more difficult than I had expected; the comfort of living in the same city as she did had always been something I'd taken for granted, ever since the thing with Samuel and the carnival had happened. Claire was never more than a phone call and a short car ride away, and it was a comfort. But that had all changed.

The University of Rochester had been an opportunity she couldn't pass up, and I hadn't expected her to. Sure, things had changed between us since dinner with her parents three months ago. She hadn't put us in the same room again for more than a few minutes at a time, but our relationship had evolved into something tentatively romantic. We didn't talk about the change, just let it take us where it willed. One night, it had taken us to my couch, her hair loose and chest heaving as I lay over her, my hand up her shirt and our tongues tangled together erotically. I really liked the journey. Of course, I tried not to push her father than she was ready to go… but I'd had four years of fore-play and I was, perhaps understandably, a bit eager. Still, we hadn't gone farther than a few shirtless make-out sessions and one thrilling hand-job that she hadn't let me reciprocate.

Besides, in a few months I'd be following her to New York and we'd not only be in the same city, but the same apartment. I'd purchased the 2000 square foot high-rise quite intentionally after she'd mentioned Syracuse and Rochester; all it had taken was a trip to the bank where I stored my Midas Gold and a call to some realtor in the city and I had become the owner of some nice real-estate near Claire's new school. Coincidentally, of course. Claire had been thrilled when I'd mentioned it, but had refused to stay there for free out of some absurd sense of independence. As a result she was now paying me 500 a month (which I was putting into a separate account so that I could give it back once she became more reasonable) to live there with the understanding that I would become her roommate once I made the move. And I really did mean roommates. Though we were in a romantic relationship, she didn't think she was ready to really 'live with me' yet, so she would have her own bedroom and I would have mine. It was a little irritating to think about, but I felt sure that it was an arrangement which would soon become a thing of the past.

I rolled out of bed, smiling despite the grinding in my head. It was a Saturday and Claire was probably awake by now. She had some sort of orientation to attend at noon and it was already eleven.

I grabbed my cell from my nightstand table and dialed her number as I padded into the kitchen, closing the blinds as I went.

"Gabe," she answered on the fourth ring, "I just sent you an e-mail."

I grinned. "Not another one of those cat picture chain mail things, I hope."

Claire chuckled. "Not exactly. I had a dream about you last night and I thought I would share."

"Nothing too bad?"

"Not bad at all," she replied, a lascivious little lilt to her voice. I could always tell when she wanted to sound seductive because a bit of the south seeped into her words. It worked very well on me.

"So it was _that_ kind of dream," I murmured, starting the coffee and sitting at the table where my macbook sat open. I clicked a few times and accessed the e-mail she had been talking about and began to read. I had to stop half way through because I was rapidly becoming uncomfortably aroused and my breathing was growing ragged.

"Hell, Claire."

She laughed on the other end of the line. "I thought you'd like it," she said.

"You are a wicked tease," was all I could say as I tried to get control over myself. I had things to do today and the last thing I needed was to waste the rest of the morning stroking myself to visions of Claire doing the things she had just written about.

"I know, but I figured since you're there and I'm here… might as well do what I can textually."

"Is that a pun?"

"Maybe. Was it good?"

I groaned. "You realize I'm not going to be able to focus on anything until the problem you've just caused is taken care of?"

She laughed. "I was kind of counting on that." In the background I heard an alarm sound. "Dammit. That's my alarm. I need to go see if I can catch a train and get to the place early. Text me?"

I nodded even though she couldn't see me and said, "Yes."

"Good. I'll talk to you later tonight…" she seemed to hesitate and I spoke so that she wouldn't have to struggle.

"I love you, Claire."

She sighed in relief. "You too. I'll call after orientation." And with that, the line went dead and I was left with the half read e-mail and my coffee.

"What the hell," I muttered as I started the e-mail over. I really didn't have any place to be until two.

By the time I was done with Claire's writing, the coffee had gone cold and I needed a shower, preferably a cold one as I still couldn't get the images out of my head.

Claire's hand on me. Her hair tickling my bare thighs. Warm velvet and soft everything beneath me as I—

Definitely a cold shower.

My meeting at two went smoothly. I made lots of money as usual and made my way to the post office to mail a letter I'd written to Claire in response to her E-mail. It was a lot longer than hers and detailed far more… imaginative poses than she had mentioned. I really hoped it did to her what she'd done to me this morning and I wondered briefly what I would see were I to touch it after she'd read it. I stopped that line of thought immediately before I could embarrass myself in public.

I didn't have a lot of mail. Bills, junk mail, a couple of cards from clients with invitations to special events, and a regular white envelope with my address hand-written on the front and no return address. I puzzled over the thing, picking nothing up on its history other than a few mail carriers and its life in a box after it had been manufactured.

Curious, I cut the top of the envelope discreetly with one of my abilities and pulled the letter out of the envelope. It was typed in a regular looking font and again, no hits off of the history. I began to read.

_Gabriel Gray,_

_I can't tell you how long I've waited for this. I could, but that would give a few too many things away. Let's just say it's been a long, long time, and that I'll have justice soon. You may have escaped the notice of others, may have flown 'under the radar' for a long time and fooled everyone around you… but I know. I know what you really are, and I can name it. _

_Killer. Murderer. Maniac. Evil. Psychopathic. Scum. _

_You think you're forgiven? You think you can escape justice when it's waited so long to find you? You're wrong. I know you now. I know you more intimately than I ever thought possible, than I ever wanted. And I know what drove you. Drives you. I know murderous rage. I know the hunger to kill now, because I feel it for you. _

_By the time this is over, there will be justice. For all of the people you've killed. Before we're done with you, before _I_ am done with you, you'll be broken and bleeding. Just like the people you left behind without a second glance. _

_So enjoy what is left of your life. Enjoy it while you can, because soon there will be nothing left. Soon, it'll all be gone. Soon, there'll be nothing left of you but a nightmare. _

_I'm coming for you._

_-Vengeance. _

The letter drifted to the floor as I finished it. I couldn't move, could barely breathe. This was it then, the beginning of something I hadn't even let myself expect. Vengeance. Justice.

Gaining control of my breathing, I glanced to the floor where the paper had landed. I snapped his fingers once and the whole thing disintegrated into nothing but dust.

This couldn't be happening, not now. Not when everything was on track again and my life was finally going the way it was supposed to, when I was finally just Gabriel Gray and no-one else.

The pile of dust sat unmoving on the floor of the post office as I walked away.

This wasn't happening.

* * *

**A/N: We love you. Reviews are always welcome. That is all. **

**Mel and Chuck**


	36. Self Determination

**Chapter Four: Self-determination**

It was not the best week ever.

Gabriel had been very busy at work for the past several weeks, which meant that instead of getting to see him every weekend, it had been a while since we'd had anything other than phone calls and e-mails. And even if it made me uncomfortable to admit it, I missed him. After seeing him weekly over the past four years, and the renewed closeness that we were beginning to enjoy, living over 200 miles apart was…difficult, to say the least.

Living in New York was weird for other reasons, of course. I'd seen Angela a couple of times, but not as often as a good granddaughter would have. It was hard visiting her and knowing that she'd lost both of her sons when they'd played such large roles in my life. I think being with me was hard for her too; she saw me as one son's bastard daughter and the other son's…obsession, maybe. Save the cheerleader, save the world, and in the end he had died trying to save me. I still got angry sometimes; mad that nobody could seem to remember that I can't die, and protect their own skins. Too many people had died, and when I was alone in New York it was easy to get depressed over how many more deaths I would have to watch in the oncoming succession of years.

The city was large and bright, and I understood why so many people were drawn to it, fell in love with it. To me, the regular bustle of the city seemed a little superficial, even more so when I considered that the entire place could have been completely destroyed only so many years ago. After so much gravity had centered on the metropolis, everything else seemed so inconsequential.

Even in spite of all that, I enjoyed grad school most of the time. The classes were typically more interesting than the ones offered at undergrad levels, and the people in them genuinely cared about the subject matter, rather than sleeping at the back of the room or chatting on Facebook.

Today, however, was different. The social-personality psych professor was talking about self-determination theory again; not quite halfway through my first semester of the program, I was already sick to death of those three words. And I'd have to get used to it. Self-determination theory was Rochester's favorite subject, it seemed, and it came up in every class.

"Self-determination," he droned, "is an endorsement of one's actions at the highest level of reflection. Those of you who remember Maslow from Psychology 101, who can tell me what that means?" Several students raised their hands, and a small, mousy girl was called on.

"It means that in order to have real freedom, a person's choices have to fulfill the highest level of Maslow's hierarchy of needs. Determination is equated to actualization." She sniffled and adjusted her glasses on her face.

"Excellent. Unless a person has fulfilled all the previous levels, he cannot self-determine."

I raised my hand. "Excuse me sir? Is it not possible that a person could fulfill self esteem and actualization before, say, love and belonging?" I was thinking of Gabriel, who was achieving his goals of power collection well before he was worried about friendship. Actually, most of my graduate studies reminded me of him. I wondered sometimes if that wasn't why I'd chosen the track that I had.

The professor made a face at me, as though I'd said something distasteful. "Not impossible, no. But the idea is that the needs at the bottom are the most important, and therefore should be given precedence. This is basic material, Miss Bennet."

"No, I know that," I said, not willing to let him make me feel stupid. "But I asked because I've met people who are definitely self-determined on one level, but maybe haven't fulfilled the lower levels."

He rolled his eyes, clearly impatient to move on with his day's planned lecture. "Then I would suggest to you that their priorities are out of order."

"Tell me something I don't know," I muttered to myself as I sat back and kept my mouth shut.

Apparently my words in class had attracted some attention—one of my classmates stopped me on our way to Quantitative Methods. His name was Blake, and he was a pretty nice guy; not the smartest person in class, but not the dumbest either.

"You want to get a coffee some time?" he asked as he sidled next to me. "You seem to think about things in a different way than a lot of the students here. I think it would be really cool to hear more from you." I wondered if I saw things in a different light because of the people who populated my life, or because I had an ability that altered my need to worry about the lower levels of Maslow's hierarchy. Then I wondered what Blake would think if he could follow my current train of thought.

"I'm actually really boring," I joked. "You'd be begging to leave after five minutes."

"Is that a no?" he asked, playing it cool. "Because somehow I doubt that you're as boring as you say. If you don't want to, just tell me. I can take it." He put on an exaggerated tough-guy face and I laughed.

"No, we could get coffee sometime if you want. But just so you know…I have a, uh…" The word 'boyfriend' sounded so juvenile, especially when applied to someone like Gabriel, but I didn't really have another word for him. What did you call someone who'd been your stalker/killer, college boyfriend, best friend, and more?

"Sugar daddy?" Blake supplied with a wink. I laughed again.

"No, just a boyfriend I guess."

"Does he go to school around here?" Blake didn't seem disappointed, just interested in my life outside of class.

"No, he's older than me, got his MBA. He works in Virginia right now." I was surprised at how casual and open I was being with someone I didn't really know that well. But what was there to fret about? With Samuel dead and me dating the most powerful man I'd ever known, life felt pretty uncomplicated and worry-free.

"Sounds like a cool dude. Maybe he's where you get all your insight from," Blake commented as we reached our next class.

The rest of the day was pretty boring. I didn't speak up in class anymore, and it went by reasonably quickly.

My phone rang just as I was unlocking the door to my apartment. I dropped my bag by the door and took off my jacket before answering. Gabriel's voice was enough to make me smile.

"Good day?" he asked, sounding kind of exhausted.

"It was all right," I answered, kicking off my shoes and lying on the couch. "I disagreed with my professor and decided to meet one of my peers for coffee sometime."

"That sounds like fun. What's his name?"

"The professor? Dr. Tate."

"Not your instructor, the classmate. If it had been a woman you would have said so."

I rolled my eyes at his confidence in his own assumption. "Blake. He knows that it's just a casual thing, though. I made sure to mention you."

He chuckled dryly. "Thanks for reassuring me. I was afraid for a moment there that I was going to lose you to some little boy you've known for a matter of weeks."

"How do you know it was a guy my age? For all you know, he's a grown-up man of thirty-seven," I teased, rolling onto my back to stare at the ceiling.

"He'd better not be. I don't like the thought of lecherous older men preying on an innocent twenty-two year-old." I started laughing at the judgment in his tone, and he protested, "It's different for me. In another few years it won't matter for you and I anyway."

I told him that yes, while Blake was older than me, he was not in his thirties. I asked about his day and we talked for a while longer before I brought up another subject.

"When do you think you'll be able to visit?"

His voice was warm as he countered, "Why do you ask?"

"You know why, Gabriel."

"I'd like you to say it, though," he said, voice soft.

I sighed, sitting up and hunching my shoulders. "I want you to come visit me because I miss you and you haven't been here in ages. Is that what you want to hear?"

His laughter floated across the line again, and I smiled in spite of myself. "It's nice to hear every once in a while. And if you're not doing anything this weekend, I'm free from Friday afternoon until Monday morning."

"That would be great." I smiled at the thought of seeing him so soon.

"Great. I can pick you up from class and we'll go to dinner."

That promise kept me smiling through my solitary meal, homework, and all the way until I fell asleep. You'd think that with such a happy thought I'd have nothing but sweet dreams, but instead I had a nightmare. I was standing in a hallway, and Gabriel was lying on the floor covered in blood. There was a man stabbing him over and over, and somehow I knew that Gabriel wasn't healing. The killer turned around…but he was Gabriel too.

I woke up in tears, confused and frightened, and I'd already hit speed dial before it registered that it was three in the morning.

"Claire? What's wrong?" Gabriel's voice was groggy.

"I'm sorry," I said, lying in the dark. "I didn't realize what time it is."

"It's okay. Tell me what's going on."

"Nothing; I'm sorry I woke you."

"Claire," he said, voice clearer and stronger than it had been seconds ago, "you're obviously upset. Just tell me."

"I had a bad dream," I said, feeling suddenly stupid. "And you got killed, but you were also the killer."

He talked to me until I felt better and went back to sleep, but it wasn't the same. This time as I drifted off I could only think of the last nightmare I'd had about him, and wonder if this one meant something as well.

* * *

**_A/N: Hey all, We are so sorry its been a long time. It will probably continue to take a while to update, because its the end of the semester and we're both stressing over school. Chuck is still in nursing school and Mel is recently engaged and in the process of wedding planning. It's hectic. But today, we got a review from a new reader, and it temporarily reinvigorated us. Please have faith that eventually there will be a steady pace again and that both Collide and The Agency will see an ending._**

**_Yours, Mel and Chuck. _**


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